


Shedding Old Skins

by WillGirl



Series: Not Their Fathers' Sons [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Family, First Love, First Time, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Homosexuality, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillGirl/pseuds/WillGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius and Albus have decided that it's time to tell their families about their relationship. Things are bound to get difficult...and not just because there's a first time for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trainride Prelude

_Or, "How to Come Out of the Closet as a Slytherin."_

Albus Potter had never felt this nervous before in his life. Every rattle and rumble as the train clattered along on its journey back to London jolted up his spine and roiled in his stomach, a cold block of icy nausea. He felt very stiff and awkward, and his lips were dry no matter how much he licked them, and the only thing that seemed to be holding him to this earth were the long, thin fingers laced tightly around his own.

He squeezed Scorpius’s hand and got a watery, sickly sort of smile in return.

“We’re almost there,” Scorpius whispered.

Albus nodded, and swallowed hard. The journey from Hogwarts to home took nearly a full day, but for the first time in five years Albus wished that the trip was longer. Because at the end of the tracks was Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and waiting on that platform would be Albus’s mom, and his dad, and at least half of his far-too-large, sprawling family.

And Albus was afraid to face each and every one of them.

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that while Scorpius’s eagerly waiting retinue would probably only consist of two people, the other boy was still almost as anxious as Albus was, but that didn’t help much...largely because Albus was no more prepared to face the Malfoys than he was the Weasleys, no matter how many fewer they numbered.

“It’ll be okay,” Scorpius whispered, but he didn’t sound like he meant it.

Albus nodded anyway, because he knew he wasn’t the only one who wanted reassurance right now. “Of course it will,” he whispered back insincerely, and the boys shared another brief set of weak grins before they lapsed back into silence.

It had been the quietest train ride Albus had ever been on. Normally, no one could shut up, and all their friends talked at once, trying to get out every last thing they wanted to say before they all separated for the summer (or at least for the first day or so; most everyone managed to see each other at least a few times over break, but the first days always seemed long). But for this ride, he and Scorpius had dodged everyone else, unable to face their cheerful chatter when they both knew full well that they could be riding towards their doom. So they had left everyone else behind, to enjoy their babbling conversation, while the two of them sat in another compartment, alone.

Well, Rose was sitting with them, of course; Rose was almost always with them. Despite her being in Ravenclaw, and the two of them in Slytherin, the three were together much more often than not. So when he and Scorpius had decided to find a compartment of their own, away from the rest of their friends, and Rose had come along, neither of them had thought to suggest she should not.

But Rose had been quiet, too, perhaps sensing Al and Scor’s discomfort. When they all sat down she had stared across the compartment at them rather blankly, then raised a book in front of her face and barely emerged at all, even when the trolley came by with food. Albus was glad of that. He knew Rose was aware of he and Scor’s relationship, and being as clever as she was she must have guessed what had them both so nervous about going home, but he still didn’t want to talk about it with her. Fortunately, she was apparently insightful enough to sense his reluctance, and leave it alone.

Or maybe that was just a really good book.

Either way, Albus could take advantage of the silence, ignore Rose, and just wallow in his nerves. And that was a _lot_ of nerves.

Far too soon, they were in London. The train jerked to a halt and Albus’s fingers spasmed tightly around Scorpius’s. His breath hissed in very sharply and he went so tense his nerves could have been used to cut glass. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Scorpius leaned in and laid a gentle kiss on Albus’s cheek, and every single muscle he had relaxed. “Thanks,” he breathed, and Scorpius smiled. He looked terrified, and uncannily pale, but still beautiful. “Not a problem,” Scorpius said.

Albus brushed his fingers down the side of Scorpius’s face and they shared a weary, wary grin. Then before either one of them could say anything else—before they could lose their nerve—they both scrambled to their feet and hauled their trunks down from the overhead luggage rack. On the other side of the crowded compartment, Rose was already doing the same with her own, not looking at either of them.

(Albus figured she didn’t want to risk making eye contact with Scorpius; he had a very different idea of what constituted proper behavior than she did, and bewitching their trunks to be lighter and easier to manage would have seemed utterly sensible to Scorpius, and a rules-breach of epic proportions to Rose. These days, he tended to suggest things like that in attempts to purposefully annoy her, for his own amusement. Of course he was unlikely to try and follow-through on a bit of illicit magic right before they disembarked and rejoined their parents and everyone else on the platform—and was even less likely to joke around like that right now, when his nerves were so tight, but Rose couldn’t know that he was in no mood for pranks—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have teased her about it, if he had been feeling more cheerful, and Rose probably wanted to avoid anything that might inspire her to deck him, not when they were about to walk out onto the train platform in front of all their families.)

_Their families_ . Albus swallowed very hard, and wondered if he could just Apparate to Romania, and go live with Uncle Charlie and the dragons.

But no, Rose was walking out at a very brisk pace, and Scor was following her, so Albus had to do the same. His hands shook a little so he wrapped one tighter around the handle of his trunk, and stuffed the other in his pocket. If anyone noticed that he was nervous, they would want to know why, and while he and Scorpius had decided that it was time to tell their parents, the train platform was definitely not the place for that discussion.

No, those conversations had been very carefully planned out; now all Albus had to do was survive long enough to carry out those plans. He wasn’t sure what would be harder: maintaining the pretense in front of his family that there was nothing he was worrying about, or lasting a night without Scorpius’s presence.

Looking at the pale, sharp-featured blond standing next to him, Albus thought it was probably going to be the latter.


	2. Confessions at the Malfoys'

Draco Malfoy was in the informal sitting room, reading, when his son came in. Scorpius was trailed, as usual, by Albus Potter. That had been odd at first, and awkward for everyone (most especially for Draco) but he had gradually adjusted to the idea of having a Potter in the house, and anyway, Albus was nothing like his father had been—or nothing like the Harry that Draco had thought he’d known, at least.

Albus was a perfectly pleasant child, a little bit shy at first but he’d soon opened up, and now it would be odd to imagine having Scorpius home without the gangly, mop-haired boy at his side. They’d been inseparable since their first year, the two children, and Albus had featured in Scorpius’s letters more predominantly than Hogwarts School itself. By the time they’d actually met on the platform at King’s Cross, Draco had felt like he’d all but known the boy already.

Which had not, of course, made things any less awkward for the two families of the unlikely friends, but Draco had at least been able to take some pleasure in the fact that Potter, clearly, had found the whole situation even more disturbing than he had.

Albus, it seemed, wasn’t much of a letter writer, and so the Potters had received most of their reports of the boys’ friendship second-hand from Albus’s other family members at the school, while Draco and Astoria had gotten ream upon ream of parchment on everything he had encountered at Hogwarts—especially Albus—from their own giddily-verbose son.

It had still been difficult for the boys to convince their respective parents to let them see one another over the holidays, especially so for Albus. The Potters had been extraordinarily reluctant to allow their son to visit his new friend. Less so Draco, who knew that, whatever his personal feelings towards Potter were (mostly a mixture of guilt, resentment, and shame), his son would certainly be safe there. Potter no doubt still went out of his way to rescue stray kittens from trees, so no harm would come to his precious Scorpius while he was in the obnoxiously heroic man’s care, Draco was certain.

Besides, Scorpius had asked him, and Draco could no more refuse his son anything he wanted than he could scrub his left arm clean.

Fortunately Harry and Ginny Potter seemed little better equipped to deny their own offspring, and although their reluctance had been insultingly obvious (although Draco did not take much offense; he felt it perfectly justified, considering his past) they had eventually capitulated to Albus’s pleading, and the boys had spent the better part of the summer together. The same had been true of every break thereafter, although more and more it had been the Malfoys’ home they had frequented, rather than the Potters’.

Albus had some issues with his extensive family, Draco knew. He wasn’t unkind enough to pry, but Albus had told both he and Astoria enough—and told Scorpius more, no doubt—for Draco to understand that the shy boy was self-conscious around his Gryffindor-centric family, and he felt awkward and out-of-place in their cacophonous company. (Draco sincerely doubted there was any reason for this beyond the usual, exaggerated drama of artificial teenage distress, but if Albus wanted to believe that his house-status made a difference to his family, then Draco Malfoy certainly wasn’t going to be able to convince him otherwise.)

He’d simply made it clear to Albus that he was always welcome in their home, at any time of day or night, and that the Malfoys would never press him for reasons or details. An argument with his parents, a fight with his brother, noisy cousins, too many practical jokes from his uncles, or utterly imaginary angst—it made no difference to Draco what Albus was running away from; he could always come here to find his solace. That was the least of what he owed in his back-debt to the universe, and would have been easy enough to offer even if Albus’s company hadn’t made his own dear son so obviously happy. And Draco would do anything to make Scorpius happy. He would have made the offer even if he’d disliked Albus, for Scorpius’s sake, but as it was, he found the boy charming on his own merits.

So when Albus followed Scorpius into the room Draco looked up and smiled easily at them both. They clearly had something they wanted to ask him, so he marked the spot in his book with the attached ribbon and set it aside.

Draco wondered if it would be Potions or Quidditch this time, or something else altogether. The Malfoys’ house contained a very well-stocked brewing room because both Draco and Scorpius enjoyed dabbling with Potions, and the wide lawns held a nearly-regulation Quidditch pitch for the same reason. The two children spent most of their time in one or the other location, and the existence of said room and pitch were often the excuse that Albus gave his parents for explanation as to why he and Scorpius preferred to spend their time at the Malfoys’ home over the Potters’. It wasn’t even a lie; it was merely, in the grand tradition of Slytherin House, a partial truth couched in beneficially misleading terms.

“What can I do for you, boys?” Draco asked.

Scorpius and Albus exchanged nervous glances. Draco bit back a smirk. Whatever it was, this was clearly going to be good. Probably somewhat illegal, from the way they were shuffling back and forth so anxiously. (Draco had to admit that part of him took indecent joy in helping Harry Potter’s son fiddle with illicit potions and unapproved magicks.)

“We…there was something we wanted to…I need to talk to you, father.”

Draco’s expression faded into seriousness and he sat up attentively. Scorpius appeared genuinely worried. “What is it, my boy?” he asked gently.

Scorpius looked at Albus, who gave him an encouraging nod despite his own obvious discomfort. Scorpius took a deep breath and turned back to face his father. He visibly marshaled his resources and said, his face so pale that Draco feared that the boy might be about to faint, “Father, Albus and I are…we’re dating. Sir.” Scorpius dropped his gaze very quickly, looking down at the floor.

“Go on, what is it?” said Draco encouragingly.

“I, I don’t understand,” Scorpius stammered, peeking up hesitantly at his father through his light eyelashes. “I told you, we’re…we’re together. As a couple. That’s what it...that.” He looked down again, trembling.

“Yes,” said Draco. “And?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, something’s clearly got you distressed.”

“I just…I thought you’d have…something more to say,” Scorpius said quietly. He looked pained. Albus’s fingers edged closer to the paler boy’s side, as if he wanted to hold Scorpius’s hand but was afraid to.

“What am I supposed to say?” Draco asked, genuinely confused and starting to worry. Scorpius was clearly in distress and if he didn’t know why, he could do nothing to fix it. “Tell me what’s happened, won’t you?”

“We…we…” Scorpius turned to Albus, wide-eyed and helpless. Albus did take his hand then, squeezing it comfortingly, although he looked no more capable of offering any sort of real reassurance to anyone than did the frantic, forlorn Scorpius himself at that moment.

“We sort of fell in love, I guess, sir,” Albus said quietly, glancing skittishly at him from the corner of his bright green eyes.

“Is that what has you both so upset?” Draco asked, his brow wrinkling.

Scorpius nodded.

“I don’t understand why,” said Draco. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, happy?”

“Happy?” Scorpius echoed, incredulous. “Is that…is that what you think?”

“Well, yes,” said Draco, bewildered. “Mutual affection growing into genuine feeling? I’d think that would make you both happy, yes…so what’s gone wrong?”

The boys’ faces were studies in mutual misery. Scorpius chewed his lip, a childhood habit he’d mostly outgrown; an indication that he didn’t know what to say.

Understanding finally dawned, and Draco couldn’t help but laugh. Albus flinched and Scorpius visibly stiffened.

“Oh, Merlin…is that what you came here to tell me?” Draco asked. “Come here, son,” he said, waving Scorpius over to the couch. Albus trailed behind the other boy, their fingers parting only reluctantly as Scorpius sat down, trepidatiously, next to his father. Draco put one arm around his son and hugged him. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I had no idea you thought you were telling me something I didn’t know.”

They both gaped at him. “You—you _knew?_ ” Scorpius stammered. “How…?”

“How did I figure it out? It really wasn’t hard. You two were a bit obvious about your feelings, honestly. How long have I known?” Draco continued. He shrugged. “Well, I’ve suspected as much for ages, but it was only after your match with Ravenclaw at the end of last year—when that Bludger took Albus off his broom?—that I knew for sure. The look on your face…” He stroked his stunned son’s soft hair comfortingly. “Not to mention the way your captain had to physically drag you back onto your broom while they took Albus up to hospital,” he added with a teasing grin.

“You…but…we weren’t…”

“We weren’t together then,” Albus clarified when Scorpius’s words failed him. “We didn’t even know we…I mean, I didn’t even know I was bent, then, let alone that I fancied Scor.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?” he asked. He looked down at Scorpius. “You as well?”

Scorpius shook his head. “Not an inkling,” he said very quietly.

Draco failed to restrain a snicker. “Sorry,” he said immediately. “I just would have sworn you…” He shook his head, cleared his throat, and forced a gentle, even tone. “So when _did_ you two, you know, get together then?”

“Two months ago,” Scorpius replied.

“And one week. Well, almost a week,” Albus added.

Draco had the distinct impression that if Scorpius hadn’t been so tense right now, he’d have rolled his eyes at his friend’s—no, at his _boyfriend’s_ —pedanticity.

“I see,” said Draco. He fought to suppress his amusement. “And this was meant to be your, what, your confession to me?”

Both boys nodded. Draco hugged his son then beckoned for Albus to join them on the couch. Albus hesitated a moment, then gingerly sat down on Draco’s other side. He relaxed with a relieved sigh when Draco wrapped his other arm around the dark-haired boy’s thin shoulders.

“Now, tell me,” said Draco, “are we all right? Not on the brink of bursting into tears at least, I hope?”

They both shook their heads. “No, father,” Scorpius said. His voice was slightly muffled because he was still pressed to Draco’s side.

“Good,” said Draco. “I quite disapprove of anything that makes you cry, you know, my dear boy.”

Scorpius laughed weakly. “Yes,” he said, “I know.”

“Although,” said Draco, only partially kidding, “I have to admit, I am a bit hurt.”

“Hurt, father?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “You thought I didn’t know, you said?”

“No, sir, we had no idea,” Albus told him.

“But you waited two months and, what was it, almost a week to tell me? Because you thought I would…?”

“I was afraid you would be…upset,” Scorpius said delicately.

“Upset?”

“That I was, well…with Albus?” Scorpius spoke tentatively, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

“Well, I’ll admit that it’s certainly going to make for some awkward moments,” Draco said, grinning. “But I can’t see it being much different from how things were already, honestly. We’ve all had to adjust, the Potters and Weasleys and I, to the idea of the two of you being friends, but we’ve had years in which to do so, so I’m sure we’ll manage as we have before. The important thing is that you be happy—the both of you.”

“You really don’t mind, then?” Scorpius asked, his voice quiet.

“Mind?” said Draco. “What would I mind?”

“That…” Scorpius sighed. He darted a glance at Albus, seemed to rethink what he was about to say, and asked, “That your only son is gay?”

Draco shrugged. “Is my only son happy?” he asked.

“Yes,” Scorpius admitted.

“Then no,” said Draco, “of course I don’t mind.”

Scorpius sagged with relief. Draco held him close and stroked his hair, like he was still a child who was having trouble sleeping. He squeezed Albus’s shoulder and got a grateful, watery smile in response.

“I’m…I’m glad you don’t hate me,” Albus said quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said immediately. “What could I possibly hate you for when you obviously make my Scorpius so happy?”

Both boys blushed at that but Albus managed a proper grin. 

“So,” Draco asked slyly, “what was the plan?”

“The plan?” said Albus, his innocent confusion fooling no one.

“Please,” the elder Malfoy drawled. “If you were worried about how I was going to take the news, you surely wouldn’t have approached me without a few contingencies. Not clever Slytherins such as yourselves, I don’t think.”

Scorpius shrugged. “Well…perhaps not,” he admitted reluctantly.

Draco smirked. “So what _was_ the plan, then?”

“Well,” Scorpius said slowly, “if you had, um…been upset…”

“You know, like if you’d forbidden us to see each other, or something?” Albus chimed in.

Draco snorted. “I would have to be rather stupid to try, no?” he asked. “Besides, I don’t know if Astoria and I could handle having Scorpius here for a whole summer’s vacation without you around these days, Albus,” he added, grinning.

Albus grinned back. “Good,” he said, “because I’d hate to not be here.”

Draco hugged him. “Well, you don’t ever have to worry about that,” he said. Then he turned mockingly severe. “So long as you don’t break my son’s heart, now,” he threatened the other boy.

Albus’s smile widened. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said cheerfully. “I’d never hurt Scor; I love him too much.”

Draco beamed and Scorpius rolled his eyes at the both of them. “ _Anyway_ ,” he drawled, “the _plan_ in that case would have been to go to Albus’s house, confess that you’d disowned me without saying exactly why, and—”

“I would never!” Draco exclaimed, clutching his son.

“Yes, I can see that,” Scorpius said, his voice muffled in the front of his father’s robes.

“Never,” Draco said again, vehemently. “There is nothing you could do, ever, _nothing_. You _have_ to understand that, Scorpius. You’re my son, I love you, and _nothing_ will change that. _Nothing_.”

“Yes,” Scorpius mumbled, “yes, all right.”

“I don’t care if you—if you run-off to socialize with giants, or start slaughtering house-elves for sport, or—or marry a Muggle!” Draco said, his voice going sharp and furious. “You are _my son,_ and _nothing_ will ever stop me loving you.”

“I get it, dad, thank you. Anyway, did you want to hear this or not?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Draco relaxed enough to let his son sit up so he could speak clearly again, although he did not take his arms from around him. “Please continue.”

“Well,” said Albus, “we’d have gone to my mum and dad, told them Scor had gotten, you know, kicked out or whatever, and counted on the fact that they, well…”

“Sort of despise me?” Draco offered.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Albus admitted with a sheepish smile. “So we figured they would be, you know, happy to show you up, right?”

“Right,” agreed Draco, smirking.

“Besides, a kid with no home to go to? Dad would bloody melt.”

Draco snorted. “Right,” he said again.

“Also,” Scorpius added, “we thought it would be easier to, well, to hide our…our relationship from them, than it would be from you and mother.”

“Two other siblings, dad working all hours, mum’s crazy travel for interviews.” Albus ticked the points off on his fingers as he spoke. “Not to mention the multitude of cousins and uncles and aunts…should be enough chaos, we figured, that they wouldn’t notice. Or that was the plan, anyway.”

“That’s why we chose to tell you first,” Scorpius explained. “If it went well—which it has, _yes_ , thank you,” he silenced his father. “If it went well, _then_ we would tell Albus’s parents also—which we will now, _yes—_ but if it hadn’t, then…well, then we figured it would be best to _not_ risk telling them, as they were to be our fall-back.”

Draco nodded. “That seems logical,” he said. “Aside from, of course, the obvious fallacy of assuming you’d need such a stratagem in the first place.” He nudged the boys next to him, his expression melodramatically chiding.

Albus laughed. Scorpius just rolled his eyes again. “Yes, father,” he said, half-smirking, “we understand. You already knew, you’re happy for us, thank you. We were foolish to worry. Stop rubbing it in.”

Draco chuckled. “All right, all right, I’m done,” he promised. “In fact, I think I’ll go do something terribly important elsewhere, so you two can celebrate that your little confession went so well.” He stood up and kissed the top of his son’s head, then ruffled Albus’s hair. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” he asked Albus. “Since you don’t need to resort to your contingency plans? You can put off re-enacting this little scene at your house until tomorrow at least, can’t you, and spend the evening with us instead?”

Albus nodded.

“Splendid,” said Draco, beaming at them both. “I think a celebratory dinner will be in order, especially once your mother discovers she was right.”

“Mother knew?” Scorpius exclaimed.

“Of course,” said Draco. “What do you think we gossip about when you’re off at school, anyway?” he asked, winking at them.

Scorpius clucked his tongue in exasperation and rolled his eyes yet again; Albus just laughed. “I should have figured…” Scorpius muttered.

“Yes, you should have,” Draco agreed cheerfully. “Oh, and before you ask? Astoria adores Albus, and will be nothing but thrilled to have our suspicions about the two of you confirmed—probably ear-piercingly thrilled, actually,” Draco said, faking a wince. “You should probably brace yourselves now for all the gleeful shrieking. I may be forced to resort to a silencing charm for the sake of preserving my hearing...don’t know if it will be any help, but...” He shrugged mournfully.

“You’re hilarious,” Scorpius said dryly.

“Your boyfriend thinks I am,” Draco pointed out smugly, for Albus was snickering as he spoke.

“Well, he has terrible taste,” Scorpius retorted, “present company excepted of course.”

Albus snorted. “I’m not so sure about that last part,” he teased with a grin.

Scorpius stuck his tongue out.

Draco chuckled, squeezed his son’s shoulder affectionately, and took his leave. He figured the two boys had a great deal to discuss, and a great deal more to say without any words at all. He couldn’t restrain a smirk.

Even if it was disturbing to think that his son wanted to snog someone who looked so much like Harry Potter. Draco shuddered, grimaced, and resolutely put _that_ image out of his mind. He’d better hurry up and adjust to the concept, though; now that Scorpius was finally being honest about his feelings, he would probably start being openly affectionate with Albus, and the last thing Draco wanted to do was risk having his son think that his avowed acceptance of their relationship was less than genuine. It _was_ genuine; it just came with disturbing visual parallels.

But Draco adored Albus, and he knew that the boy made his son happy, and _that_ was, to Draco Malfoy, literally the most important thing in the world.

No matter how awkward it might be for him, personally.


	3. Post-Confession Interlude

“So,” said Albus.

“So,” Scorpius agreed. He found himself smiling rather stupidly at his boyfriend, who was wearing very much the same sort of expression.

“Your dad knows, now,” said Albus.

“Yeah,” said Scorpius.

“Knew all along, actually. Before we did.”

“Yeah. Clever git.”

Albus laughed. “Yeah. Your mum too.”

“Yeah,” said Scorpius.

Albus squeezed his hand. “And they’re _happy_ ,” he said. “Or your dad is, and he says your mom will be…”

Scorpius nodded. “I know. I’m…I can’t believe it, not really, but…yeah.” He grinned. “Yeah,” he said again.

Albus beamed at him, then tugged the pale boy closer so that he could kiss him. Scorpius melted into his mouth, his whole body going limp against Albus as tension bled out of his limbs.

Scorpius had been worried— _so_ worried—about telling his parents. Their regard, especially father’s, meant everything to him, and he had been terrified that his relationship with Albus would jeopardize that.

And it wasn’t that Albus was a boy, which would have been bad enough. Scorpius understood the importance of family and lineage in the way that only someone who can trace his line unbroken all the way back to Constantine can understand, and he had never really given much thought to the idea of marriage and children only because he had always sort of vaguely assumed it to be a simple inevitability. And children weren’t out of the question, of course not, but being gay certainly made things more complicated from a genetic standpoint. Family was, after all, about bloodline and inheritance and everything that went along with that, and this would make those particular things quite a bit harder to arrange.

(Unlike Muggles, who objected to relationships between people of similar genders on some sort of moral basis that Scorpius had never been able to wrap his head around, traditional Wizarding families like his were only concerned with the practical aspects of such relationships. It often amounted to similar difficulties for their children in the end of course, but the conversations in those half-blooded families who shared Muggle attitudes and social mores tended to be much nastier than the logistical demands of older families.)

But father hadn’t mentioned anything like that; hadn’t said a word along the lines of, “dally to please yourself all you like, my boy, but keep in mind that you’ll eventually have to do your duty and find a witch to marry who’ll continue the line respectably,” which sounded horrible, but Scorpius knew people who’d gotten that exact speech from their parents. He was still wondering, a little bit, if it was coming eventually. Father hadn’t seemed to be thinking about that at all, but there was still plenty of time…

Worst of all was the matter of _which_ boy, in particular, Scorpius was in love with, however. Because Albus wasn’t just any half-blood boy, oh no; he was Albus Severus Potter, and that name carried a very particular sort of weight. The Malfoys—Draco and Astoria, at least, and certainly Scorpius himself—no longer gave even lip-service to the old prejudices and ideals of pure-blood superiority. And Scorpius’s grandparents had, from all accounts, mellowed considerably these days, although they were still inclined to scoff a little bit at those who were Muggle-born, even if they generally kept their scorn discreetly to themselves.

But the Malfoys were still an old, _very_ old, family. Their wizarding lineage stretched back for centuries with very little hiccough; on the paternal side, the only Muggle involved was that first forgotten daughter of Constantine the family had started with, way back in the Fourth Century. That was when the Malfoy line had formed, and it had never dealt with Muggles since. They were quite as pure-blooded as it was possible for a wizard to be, these days.

And Albus Potter was very, very much a half-blood. His mother’s family was pure-blooded too, of course, but his father’s mother—Albus’s grandmother—had been born to Muggle parents. That was _very_ half-blooded. That wasn’t something that could just be swept aside or overlooked or hushed up. And Scorpius had thought that it would matter, just a little bit, to his father. They were, after all, _the Malfoys_ , and just because they had come to their senses enough to realize that one’s magical heritage, or lack thereof, did not inform upon one’s own abilities did not mean that when it came to the family line, they _did not care_.

Only it seemed that they didn’t. (Or at least, Draco and Astoria didn’t, and Scorpius was going to tackle this one hurdle at a time.)

More than that, they did not care _in specific_ , because Albus was more than just any half-blood. He was Albus Severus _Potter_ , _and_ he was a Weasley. And the only people who had ever given the Malfoy family more trouble than the Potters had been the Weasleys. And Scorpius had very much thought that his father would care about _that_.

He saw how stiff and strained their families were whenever they were forced to meet, how carefully polite they acted and the snide things they would mutter to themselves later when they were alone. There was quite a lot of bad blood between the families, on both sides. And Scorpius had really, _really_ thought that his father would care about _that_ most of all.

But he hadn’t.

And now the anxiety that had been steadily growing in Scorpius since that first kiss with Albus had all of it simply evaporated. It left him feeling strangely empty and a little bit giddy. He couldn’t stop smiling, even as they snogged. Yes, they still had to tell Albus’s parents, and the rest of his family, and Scorpius’s grandparents; yes, they still had to face all their friends; no, it could not possibly all go this smoothly and yes, there were undoubtedly going to be some very hard times and quite a lot of trouble to deal with. But Scorpius couldn’t bring himself to worry about any of that right now.

Because he had Albus in his arms, and his father loved him anyway.

Scorpius moved forward insistently, practically climbing into Albus’s lap to kiss him, touch him, be with him forever. Their lips were pressed so close that they nearly melded into one, and their tongues thrust hungrily inside one another’s mouths. Scorpius delighted in the taste of Albus but it wasn’t enough, he wanted more— _needed_ more, needed to touch and taste every inch of him.

He pushed forward, bearing Albus down onto the plush couch. He fumbled blindly with Albus’s shirt for several minutes before he realized that he couldn’t find the buttons because there weren’t any; Albus was wearing his button-down shirt loose, hanging open to reveal the thin T-shirt beneath. Those silly Muggle clothes, that Scorpius loved so much; they were loose and tight and always hanging open, allowing Scorpius to slide his hands up the back of Albus’s shirt any time he liked, with no one in the room any the wiser as to why Albus’s breath had suddenly hitched and Scorpius was smirking and…

Scorpius did that now, pushing the shirt out of the way and breaking their kiss so that he could trail his mouth down the revealed skin of Albus’s chest and torso instead. Albus gasped and shivered beneath his rich tan. He always browned deeply in the summer; for some reason, he liked going shirtless in the hot and sticky weather that Scorpius did his best to shun, even though the sun liked to scorch him when it could—perhaps detective his ginger background through the darker complexion that Albus had inherited from his father and reacting accordingly. For his part, illogical though Albus’s clothing choices seemed, Scorpius wasn’t going to complain about the view—even if it did make it sometimes a bit harder to concentrate at Quidditch practice.

He loved the way Albus looked in the summer, with that slight sunburned trace of pink glowing across his brown cheekbones, and the way his shoulders darkened and the light gleamed off every curve of muscle and highlighted the light dusting of black hairs that had so recently sprouted across his chest.

Of course, he loved how Albus looked in the winter, too; his vibrant complexion faded and pinched from the cold and the lack of sunlight, his green eyes blazing brighter than a dozen of the now-frosted, leafless tress of the Hogwarts grounds. And really, every season, any weather; Albus was always gorgeous, and Scorpius loved the look of him, and the taste...

“Scor, wait,” Albus panted. “Your dad, what if he comes back in…”

“Good thing we told him we’re dating then, or wouldn’t he be perplexed?” Scorpius murmured back, his lips brushing against Albus’s sun-kissed skin with every word.

Albus groaned. “Stop, Scor, really…we’re going to get caught…”

Scorpius ignored Albus’s protests. He knew the other boy didn’t really mean them; he was squirming in that delightful way that always preceded the most remarkable noises, and…

“Scor, seriously.” Albus caught Scorpius’s wrists and dragged them and their exploring hands away from his sides. He pushed back until Scorpius was forced to sit up, at least a little bit; forced to pull his mouth away from Albus, at least, and meet his eyes instead. “I don’t want your dad to walk in and find me ravishing his only son less than five minutes after we told him we’re dating.”

“First of all,” Scorpius said pedantically, “father’s thought we were dating for over a year, so even though we’ve just told him, he’s actually ‘known’ longer than we have…and,” he pointed out helpfully, “technically, I’m the one doing most of the ravishing right now.”

Albus rolled his eyes.

Scorpius sighed and rolled his right back. “Oh, all right,” he said reluctantly, sitting back and sliding off of Albus’s lap. He linked their fingers together as he stood up and pulled Albus with him.

“Come along, then,” Scorpius said, trying to look aggrieved rather than giddy. He had a distinct feeling that he wasn’t quite pulling it off as well as he might have hoped.

“Where?” Albus asked, allowing his boyfriend to tug him towards the door.

Albus freed one hand and pulled his shirts back into place as best he could; fortunately his hair was always rumpled, so he didn’t even bother trying to smooth that back down. Scorpius instinctively ran a quick hand through his own hair as soon as Albus released his fingers; the smooth blond locks fell neatly into place. Albus was too distracted—and delighted—to be jealous.

Scorpius smirked. “My room,” he said. His gray eyes gleamed with mischief and lurid promise.

“Oh,” said Albus. His cheeks grew hot.

“That should be private enough, don’t you think?” Scorpius asked innocently.

Albus grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that should be brilliant.”


	4. In the Snake's Chambers

Despite how large the Malfoy estate was, Albus knew his way around the sprawling house and gardens as well as any family member. After all this time, he could find his way through it blindfolded—which was just as well, because even though his eyes were open right now, he really wasn’t looking at anything around him.

Albus barely saw the rooms they passed through, hardly noticed the long hallway, and tripped several times as they up climbed the tall staircase. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the lithe, pale figure in front of him, and his mind kept inserting flashes of _other_ things—still all of Scorpius, but rarely standing and often undressed—and it made it hard to walk and much harder to focus.

Then suddenly they were in Scorpius’s bedroom and the door was locked behind them and Albus was having a hard time catching his breath. It had just occurred to him what _level_ of privacy they had, here. This wasn’t an empty classroom they were hiding in; this wasn’t the top of the astronomy tower, crowded at the best of times; this wasn’t their dormitory, where even with locked doors and careful scheduling there was always the chance that someone might walk in.

This was Scorpius’s _bedroom_.

And they were all alone.

Albus grinned.

He grabbed Scorpius by the front of his shirt and yanked him into a hard, sudden kiss. Scorpius’s long fingers tangled in the back of Albus’s dark hair and held on tight. Albus pressed forward, rubbing his own hard-on against the bulge in Scorpius’s trousers. Scorpius moaned into Albus’s mouth and Albus shuddered.

Thin fingers slid out of Albus’s hair and trailed down his arms, leaving tingly shivers behind, before they closed loosely around Albus’s wrists.

“Come on,” murmured Scorpius, drawing back from the kiss just far enough to speak. He tugged Albus after him and Albus followed, stumbling slightly, as Scorpius led him across the room.

Albus had been in here before, of course; he’d even slept in Scorpius’s bed, sometimes, when he’d spent the night at Scor’s house and they’d fallen asleep together talking, Albus too tired to bother to go to his guest room. Astoria had been the cause of that, after the first time she had found her son curled up asleep in a library chair: she had put her dainty foot down and insisted that if they were going to stay up chattering so late that they chattered themselves right to sleep, they would do it in a _bed_ , thank you, because her precious son was not about to start sleeping in _chairs_. The boys had shrugged, undeterred, and obeyed her edict by simply doing their chattering while sprawled next to each other on the mound of pillows, and by now the idea of sleeping next to Scorpius was as natural as breathing.

But right now, it was different. Right now, _sleep_ was the _last_ thing on Albus’s mind.

In fact, his _mind_ was the last thing on his mind. This was purely about the body, the corporeal, the physical; and that physical was, specifically, the chance to run fingers and tongue and cock across every last inch of Scorpius Malfoy.

The boys tumbled onto the bed together, their fingers already fumbling at one another’s clothing. Albus yanked Scorpius’s tie free and threw it over his shoulder, then attacked the rest of it. They were halfway naked, wearing random odds and ends, when Scorpius leaned in and whispered, “Let’s have sex.”

Albus froze. “What?” he said.

Scorpius grinned shyly. “Well, if you’d like to,” he said. “I would.” He nibbled Albus’s ear, making the other boy shiver. “I want you inside me,” Scorpius whispered huskily.

Albus couldn’t help himself: he tackled Scorpius backwards with a kiss. Then they were both moaning and gasping, their hands moving everywhere, all coherent thought temporarily lost.

Finally Albus sat back, panting, his voice actually shaking as he spoke. “Are you, um, are you sure?” he asked.

Scorpius lay beneath him, flush-cheeked and swollen-lipped, his fair hair splayed out across the blankets beneath him and tousled across his forehead. If Albus ever had to describe the idea of _desire_ to someone, he would have used the exact image that was in front of him right now.

“Yes,” said Scorpius, “I think so. I mean…can you think of a better time?”

Albus slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, this is…this is perfect.”

He swallowed hard.

“A-all right, then,” Scorpius said. “Right. Well. Clothes first, I think, yes?”

“Yes,” agreed Albus.

They returned to their earlier efforts of undressing each other, but they were moving slower now, shy and nervous. Albus pulled Scorpius’s dark undershirt over his head, disheveling his hair further, and forced himself to meet Scor’s tentative smile with one of his own.

Albus was terrified.

They’d been intimate before, of course, many times— _very_ intimate. But they hadn’t gone all the way, yet. They hadn’t _shagged._ Albus had thought about it, of course—sometimes thought very _deliberately_ about it, when Scorpius wasn’t around to help—but they’d neither of them discussed it, not in earnest. They hadn’t been ready, and there’d been plenty of other things to do first, and then it really was difficult to find solitude at Hogwarts, and anyway, it was a pretty daunting concept…

He was daunted now, certainly.

But Scorpius’s breathless, “I want you inside me,” kept ringing in Albus’s head. The words coiled like fire in his gut, and just beneath it as well. He was practically throbbing with his desire to be exactly where Scorpius had said he wanted him. Albus was frightened, still, but now he was fixated, as well. The idea had settled, and now it would not leave him be. He had to be inside Scorpius, right now, all hesitations be damned.

He grinned at Scor, thinking that he had never seen anything as beautiful in his life as his elegant blond boyfriend.

Scorpius managed a smile, trying hard not to let on how nervous he was. He wasn’t entirely certain why he’d said that. He _did_ want it, of course, but he wasn’t sure that he was ready for that _now_. He’d said it, though, and he certainly didn’t want to take it back. And besides, the moment really _did_ feel perfect...

He drew in a deep breath that shook the whole way into his lungs and out again. This time the smile was more confident, he could tell. He couldn’t let Albus see how anxious he was about this, or Albus would shy away, he knew it. And he didn’t want that; he wanted _Albus_ , and he wanted him now.

Scorpius tugged Albus’s boxers down around his knees and trailed light kisses all the way from pubic hair to chin, then captured the other boy’s lips with his own. They fell over into the kiss, Scorpius landing on top of his friend. Together they managed to squirm Albus out of his underclothes without breaking the kiss more than once or twice.

Then it was Scorpius’s turn. He rolled over so that Albus could lean across him and tug the short silk pants off. That joined the rest of their clothes on the floor. The two boys stared at one another, suddenly terrified, and there they stopped, afraid somehow even to touch one another again.

Scorpius swallowed hard. He knew that if they paused now, they wouldn’t be able to overcome their hesitation enough to start up again. And while whatever they might do instead would no doubt be as wonderful as ever, the idea of _more_ was out there now, and Scorpius wasn’t going to settle for anything less, not right now.

He took a deep breath and sat up. He squeezed Albus’s shoulder for reassurance—whether offering it or drawing some for himself, he didn’t know—and climbed off the bed. Albus’s eyes were wide and worried as they followed him across the room.

“Scor—” Albus whispered, but too quietly for the other boy to hear him. _We don’t have to_ , he wanted to say, but his mouth had gone dry and he couldn’t form the words. But they didn’t, he didn’t need sex, he just needed Scorpius, and now he was walking away. Albus had done something wrong, or Scorpius had changed his mind—and that was fine, he just had to come _back_ —but Albus didn’t know what to do…

But Scorpius just rummaged in one of his drawers for a moment before turning back and, blushing furiously, he returned to the bed. He climbed back up next to Albus, who let out a heavy breath of relief and wrapped an arm around Scorpius’s naked shoulders for the comfort of contact.

“I, um…this should help,” Scorpius said. He dropped his gaze, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact, and held out a small jar to Albus. The dark-haired boy took it and turned the jar over a few times in his hands.

“What is it?” Albus asked curiously.

“Lubrication,” Scorpius said quietly. He had gone absolutely crimson. “I’ve been, um, I read up, I mean, on…well, on the process of…you know…and, uh, and it’s…recommended…”

Albus bit his lip to keep from laughing but a small snicker still escaped. “Trust you to do your research,” he teased the other boy. Albus was studious enough himself, sure, but Scorpius was without any doubt a full-blown swot. Of course he’d have, “read up on the process,” and thus made the requisite acquisitions—and thank goodness he had, because Albus had not been prepared for their current eventuality. That jar was _definitely_ going to come in handy.

Albus nuzzled Scor’s cheek and neck until the mortified boy recovered enough to raise his eyes from the bedcovers. Albus captured his lips and kissed him until he relaxed. “That was a good idea,” he murmured reassuringly. “It’s a good thing one of us plans ahead…”

Scorpius shrugged, still blushing a little. “I wasn’t _planning_ anything,” he protested. “I just thought it would be a good idea to be…ready. In case.”

Albus nodded. “It certainly was,” he said, and twisted the lid off the jar. “So…are you?” he asked. “Ready, I mean?”

Scorpius hesitated, then nodded jerkily. “Yes,” he said, not sounding particularly confident. He took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said again, more firmly this time, “I’m ready. Are you?”

Albus nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay. Let’s, um…yeah.”

They grinned at one another nervously, then slid apart on the bed. Scorpius leaned down and Albus leaned after him, digging his fingers into the jar of goop. “Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” Scorpius agreed.

Albus bent down and kissed him. Scorpius tangled a hand in Albus’s hair and tilted up into the kiss. Albus reached down between Scorpius’s legs and gently slid a dripping, sticky finger up his arse. Scorpius groaned into Albus’s mouth, his back arching in pleasure. He pressed up against Albus, the two boys rubbing together impatiently.

“More,” Scorpius gasped, and Albus carefully added a second finger. Scorpius moaned and squirmed. He pushed down on the fingers as Albus thrust upwards, their rhythms matching and then speeding up together. This much they had done before, and confidence slowly trickled back in. Scorpius tugged on Albus’s hair, pulling him down for another kiss. Albus slipped away from the other boy’s lips and trailed nips and kisses down Scorpius’s pale neck, then out across his clavicle. Scorpius shivered with delight.

“Now, please,” Scorpius gasped. Albus ignored him. Scorpius wasn’t the only one who’d done a bit of research, and Albus knew that his boyfriend was nowhere near ready to take his first cock up the arse. He kept thrusting and stretching with his fingers, grinning as Scorpius grew gradually less and less coherent.

When Scorpius was panting helplessly, clutching at the bedcovers and shaking with restrained ecstasy, and looking more beautiful than could be imagined, Albus at last pulled his fingers out. He wiped his hand on the sheet—winced at getting the expensive fabric so messy, then shrugged; it would see more mess, and he knew the Malfoys’ Elves were good at cleaning. This might be a different sort of mess than what he and Scor usually left, but it surely wouldn’t be the worst.

And besides, no matter _how_ messy they might get along the way, it was surely going to be well worth it in the end.

Albus swallowed hard and reached for the jar again with hands that trembled. He fumbled, nearly dropping it in his nervousness, before he got everything sorted out properly.

Scorpius’s eyes fluttered back open and he silently watched Albus. His pale face was pink, and Albus imagined that he was probably equally flushed himself right now.

“You still sure about this?” Albus asked quietly.

Scorpius nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Are you?”

Albus smiled trepidatiously. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m…I am.”

“If you don’t want to—”

“No, no I do!” Albus reassured the other boy quickly. “I just…I’m worried, is all,” he admitted with a shy grimace. “I mean, I don’t want to hurt you, or…”

“You won’t,” said Scorpius confidently. “We’ll be fine and,” he grinned, “I hope a lot more than just _fine_ , honestly.”

Albus laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “well, we are pretty awesome, so…”

Scorpius snickered. “Exactly,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” said Albus. “Just, tell me if…”

“Yeah,” said Scorpius. “You, too.”

They exchanged nods and very, very nervous smiles. Albus took a deep breath and dug his fingers back into the jar. He slathered more of the not-quite-body-temperature goop on Scorpius, and then on himself as well. He shivered, set the jar aside, and took a moment to try and settle his nerves.

It didn’t work.

He pressed ahead anyway, moving down towards Scorpius. The other boy obligingly lifted his legs, pulling his knees back towards his chest. Albus braced himself up with one arm and held his stiff cock loosely with his other hand so that he could guide it in. He paused on the very brink, both boys trembling at the slight, torturously teasing contact between arsehole and knob end.

Albus adjusted his grip to get a better angle. Everything was very slick down there, positively dripping; he’d probably used too much lubrication, but he figured better too much than too little. He certainly didn’t want to hurt Scorpius, and he had never done this before. He knew the theory well enough but still wasn’t entirely sure what he ought to do, not exactly. Not the specifics, the details. He’d have to work those out as he went, and the slicker it was the easier that would be, he hoped.

Better safe than sorry.

And, it occurred to Albus, Scorpius was a little…well… _delicate_. He was well-toned from all that Quidditch playing, but definitely wiry rather than muscular; even skinnier than Albus, and he didn’t boast much in the way of bulk, either. They both of them had what was referred to as a “Seeker build,” despite their positions as Chasers. Scor was slender, and svelte, and still a few inches shorter than Albus. The pale boy’s sharp, aristocratic features had an air of china-doll fragility and his lithe body felt suddenly very vulnerable beneath Albus’s hands.

Albus hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Scor…

“Oh, please…why are you _waiting_ …” Scorpius squirmed, rubbing against Albus impatiently.

Albus swallowed hard and eased forward, just a little bit. For a long, terrifying moment, nothing happened; it was like Scorpius’s arse had clamped shut, an impenetrable wall, the hole too small to allow Albus entry. Scorpius’s lips went white and thin and he shuddered, and Albus hesitated, torn between pushing harder and pulling back. Then with a sudden _pop_ , the dripping tip of his cock slipped inside Scorpius, who gasped and twitched. That thin circle of muscles convulsed around the hard shaft, drawing Albus inwards. Albus groaned, biting his lip; he wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or agony to be sliding so slowly into the tight, hot warmth of Scorpius, but it was certainly exquisite either way.

“You…all right?” he gasped.

Scorpius nodded violently, breathing too heavily for easy speech. Albus shivered and pushed in further, very slowly. Scorpius moaned and curled his legs around Albus’s sides, urging him onwards with light pressure from his heels against Albus’s back.

Scorpius was shaking, his eyes closed. He was trying very, very hard to remain relaxed, but it was difficult. Albus was a lot bigger than his fingers, and Scorpius felt stretched and taut. Even with all of that lubricating gel keeping things slick and slippery he could still feel every centimeter as Albus gently pressed his way in. It wasn’t painful, not exactly, but it was certainly uncomfortable.

He squirmed against the friction, trying to find some relief from the strain. Scorpius knew it would pass—should pass—as he adjusted to the new sensation; it was just like any other sort of physical exertion, in that neglected muscles being used in new ways tended to ache…or so he had read, anyway.

And certainly he liked the _idea_ of having Albus inside of him; he just had to get used to the _reality_ , which was a lot larger than he had imagined. He felt stretched quite nearly to the breaking point already, speared on Albus’s cock, and shaking pleasurably at every tentative little thrust. Albus dug a little bit deeper each time he moved inside Scorpius, and Scorpius gasped and moaned, writhing with abandon. He would have been mortified if anyone but Albus ever saw him like this: dignity and restraint completely abandoned, utterly lost in uncomfortable lust.

But dignity and restraint had nothing to do with this: with the way he felt with Albus thrusting inside of him…

Scorpius forced his eyes open so that he could look through their fluttering lashes at his boyfriend’s face. Albus’s eyes were closed, that brilliant green hidden, and he was panting wantonly, his mouth half-open and tempting. Scorpius would have pulled him down for a kiss but he wasn’t sure that he could manage that much command of his extremities right now. His fingers were tangled in the bedcovers; they were clutching desperately at the silky cloth, and his arms were trembling with the effort of holding on.

Besides, Albus’s face was a juxtaposition of absorbed focus and wild desire, and Scorpius didn’t want to break his concentration, especially not when the subject under such concentration was he, himself.

He was very much enjoying Albus’s… _focus_.

Scorpius glanced down further and then he paled slightly. He did his best to quell the sudden flash of anxiety that fluttered in his stomach and crawled up the back of his throat, making him swallow very hard. Either he hid it well or Albus was—understandably—just too distracted right now to notice the flicker of nerves, because his attentions did not slacken.

Scorpius closed his eyes again. It was hard to keep them open anyway against the overwhelming sensations that Albus was sending pulsing up through him right now; but it was furthermore better, Scorpius decided, if he _wasn’t_ watching, not this first time at least. He felt nearly ready to split open around the penetrating spear of Albus’s cock already and, he had seen, Albus was barely halfway inside.

Scorpius tried hard not to tense up at the realization, but couldn’t quite manage it. Albus moaned and shoved in deeper, his cock scraping against the suddenly tighter sides of Scorpius’s already taut walls. Scorpius gasped, flinching.

“S-sorry,” Albus stammered, barely coherent. He drew to a stop, shaking with the effort of restraining the insistent rhythm of desire. “We can…we can stop…”

“N-no,” said Scorpius, “no, I just…just need a minute…”

Albus nodded. He wrapped his arms around Scorpius’s thighs and curled clutching fingers around the paler boy’s knees, holding on desperately.

They hung like that, suspended in mid-fuck, for what felt like an eternity but was in reality probably no more than two or three minutes. They both panted heavily, their limbs shaking. Their cocks shook, too; Albus’s trembling inside him, rubbing against the straining walls of its hot sheathe.

Scorpius took deep breaths, willing himself to relax. It _did_ feel good, just— _tight_. And he _was_ nervous, he could admit that to himself; very nervous. But that was no reason to panic. That wouldn’t help anything. He just had to calm down, and loosen back up, and everything would be fine…

“More lube?” Albus asked anxiously.

Scorpius shook his head. “It’s fine,” he panted, “I just…just got nervous. Sorry.” He blushed miserably, hating himself a little bit for such a preposterous weakness.

“It’s okay.” Albus leaned down—Scorpius’s breath caught at the way Albus shifted _inside_ him when he moved—and kissed him gently. “We really can stop,” he said softly, although Scorpius could feel how much his friend didn’t want to. “It’s a lot to…” Albus hesitated.

“Take in?” Scorpius finished, smirking wryly.

Albus flushed. “Well…yes,” he said. A bead of sweat rolled down his nose and tumbled loose, grazing Scorpius’s pale cheek as it fell.

Scorpius wrapped his arms around Albus and pulled him down for another kiss. The stiff rod of Albus’s cock tugged at his insides as their positions shifted and Scorpius shivered. “No,” he said, “I don’t want to stop. I just…freaked out for a moment.”

Albus stared at him, brows furrowed in concern. “Did I hurt you?” he asked worriedly.

Scorpius grinned. “No,” he said, “I just freaked myself out, honestly. We can keep going now.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Albus protested anxiously.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Scorpius insisted, “ _it’s_ fine. We can continue—I _want_ to continue. _Please_.”

Albus chewed his lip, hesitating.

Scorpius pushed up against him, rubbing his own sticky cock against Albus’s torso; sliding Albus’s deeper inside himself. “Please,” he said again, his normally lilting voice gone husky.

Albus groaned and thrust forward instinctively in response to Scorpius’s movement. Scorpius moaned and moved with him, making himself focus more on the distracting friction against his own cock rather than on how strained Albus’s was making him feel as it pressed in further and further.

It was starting to feel better, less tight, as they moved together. Maybe Scorpius had just needed to participate more, or maybe he was just getting used to the activity. He still felt impossibly full and couldn’t imagine how Albus was going to squeeze the rest of himself inside, but Scorpius found himself beginning to almost look forward to finding out.

Albus moved as gently as he could, fighting his own body, fighting the urge to just thrust as hard and deep as he could, all at once; sheathe himself inside Scorpius, bury every last millimeter of pleasure in that hot, constricting, impossibly tight tunnel and just let go…

Albus groaned, shaking with restraint. He had both hands braced against the bed again, and his toes dug at the blankets for enough purchase to push against. Scorpius thrust up beneath him, that thin ring of muscles convulsing around Albus, drawing him in deeper. Albus obliged, eagerness and anxiety warring within him. He loved Scorpius too much to ever, ever want to hurt him, but that feeling—the feeling of being not just held by but _encased within_ Scorpius—made it hard to resist the desire to just _fuck him_ , grind him all the way into the mattress and watch him writhe with pleasure.

Of course, he was writhing already—with _only_ pleasure, and no pain, Albus hoped desperately—even at the gentle, hesitant thrusts that were all Albus would allow himself right now. Scorpius’s fair hair flopped, deliciously tousled, across his forehead, and splayed loose across the blankets; his long eyelashes fluttered ceaselessly, the icy grey of his eyes hidden behind passion; his pale skin glistened with sweat and his graceful, wantonly splayed limbs trembled with exertion or ecstasy or both.

Albus thrust far further, he couldn’t help it, Scor looked so beautiful…

Scorpius’s back arched and his whole body shuddered. He heels ground into the blankets, digging into the silky fabric for purchase. He _keened:_ a raw, helpless sound of delirious pleasure. Fingers wrapped tight around Albus’s shoulders and scrabbled for purchase, clutching desperately.

“A-a-gain,” Scorpius stammered. “Do that—a-gain.”

Albus grinned and did so, aiming his thrust for the same spot, the same speed. Scorpius moaned, practically convulsing around Albus. Albus gasped something that might had been Scorpius’s name and moved again, harder, pushing deeper. Scorpius keened again, helplessly, clinging to Albus. He thrust with him, the two of them too lost in pleasure for thought or sense any longer.

They moved hard and fast, writhing together, all restraint abandoned. Now there was only the tight, delicious friction, and the feeling of two bodies joined as one.

Scorpius was shaking, he felt like he was going to snap in half, and he moaned for more. Albus couldn’t have stopped himself from giving Scorpius everything he wanted if he tried, and he didn’t. He was completely consumed by the feeling of Scorpius, the feeling of being surrounded _by_ Scorpius. His arms were locked at the elbows and they trembled with the effort of holding himself up through each long, deep thrust.

The tense, strangling pressure of Scorpius’s almost painfully-tight hole rubbed wetly around his cock as Albus pushed and burrowed, shoving harder and deeper and tighter with each moan and gasp. He buried himself up to the hilt, his tender scrotum pressed against Scorpius, every last millimeter of his shaft sheathed in that hot, slick paradise. He pulled back and thrust in again, deep and hard; then back, and in again—

Scorpius cried out, his back arching off the bed and his head flung back suddenly in overwhelming ecstasy. His whole limber, lean body shook as he came, hot and thick and helpless against Albus’s tense stomach. He bucked desperately beneath the taller boy, shoving himself down recklessly on Albus’s eagerly obliging cock, his own spraying in wild bursts that matched each desperate moan.

Albus groaned and met him thrust for thrust, his own orgasm coming fast on the heels of Scor’s. He thrust a little bit harder with each long, hot spurt, and Scorpius wailed, his cry raw and desperate and loud. Tender muscles constricted around Albus’s spasming cock, tugging out every last drop of white, hot bliss. Somehow it all fit within that already overfull, straining tunnel; Scorpius’s eyes rolled back and he could see nothing but a blinding explosion of pleasure as the throbbing cock within him convulsed in thick spurts of ecstasy that matched his own.

Albus’s limbs buckled and he collapsed, spent and trembling, on top of his equally exhausted boyfriend. They lay for several minutes right where they’d fallen, panting desperately for air, lost in the shaking afterglow of unexpected sensations and deliciously trying exertion.

After a while Albus rolled reluctantly off of Scorpius. His limp cock slipped free with a wet pop, leaving a thick trail of cum leaking after it. Scorpius moaned and shuddered, writhing tiredly on the messy sheets. He felt strange, full and empty at the same time, and suddenly very much lacking in Albus, despite being within an arm’s length of the other boy.

Scorpius rolled after Albus and snuggled against him, neither boy caring that they were wet and sweaty and covered in one another’s cum. Scorpius summoned enough energy to plant a few gentle, sleepy kisses on his boyfriend’s lips and face, and they wrapped exhausted arms around one another.

Albus stroked damp locks of hair off of Scorpius’s pale, flushed face. The other boy’s grey eyes fluttered closed and he murmured something incoherent and unmistakably content as he nuzzled against Albus’s neck.

“I love you,” Albus whispered, and Scorpius sank into sleep with a soft smile on his pointed face.

Albus followed him seconds later.


	5. Aftermath

When Scorpius opened his eyes the sunlight slanting in through the tall balcony window was the deep, lazy, honey-gold color of late afternoon. He woke up to feather-light kisses and smiled happily.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Albus whispered back. His green eyes practically glowed with bliss and his swollen-lipped smile was indecently satisfied.

Scorpius reached up and brushed messy, sweat-tangled locks of black hair away from Albus’s tanned brown face. He felt sticky and gross and completely disheveled and he hardly minded at all. Scorpius grinned and stretched, then winced at a sudden twinge of discomfort.

He smiled again, quickly, when Albus’s brows snapped together in concern. “Are you all right?” he said, his tone already sliding upwards towards distressingly intense concern.

“I’m fine,” Scorpius said, summoning his most reassuring smile. It was the sort of smile he gave his mother when he was sick, or the school Healer when he wanted to get back on his broom after a tumble. It was generally pretty potent, but Albus had seen it in use too many times to be completely convinced. Scorpius distracted him with several long, soft kisses, soothing the other boy’s nerves until he felt tense limbs sag loosely against him once again.

He wasn’t fine, not quite; he _ached_ , like he’d just endured a truly brutal Quidditch match, but the muscles that ached had never been involved in Quidditch, and they were all _inside_. Scorpius could feel them twitch uncomfortably, and kept a grimace off his face by force of will.

He didn’t want to worry Albus.

Not that there was any way to stop the other boy from doing that; he was a consummate worrier, and prone to occasional bouts of random over-protectiveness. Scorpius found that particular trait alternately endearing or annoying, depending on who was being protected from whom, and why and when.

When Albus sprang to Scorpius’s defense against his older brother, for example, that was amusing; if he tried to defend him from their own housemates, though, that was exasperating. Scorpius could take care of himself, especially where other Slytherins were concerned. He understood how to fight _those_ sorts of battles better than Albus did, anyway, and while it was nice to have a friend that one could always count on to back one up, no matter what, it would be even better if Albus could always be trusted to wait for his cue in such matters, and allow Scorpius to take the lead. He was, after all, a Malfoy, and thus a natural expert at Slytherin infighting.

If, however, any Gryffindors were involved, then Scorpius was generally only too willing to concede to Albus’s expertise and follow his lead; while Albus was as Slytherin as Scorpius, nearly all of his relatives were lions, and he thus had a great deal of experience in dealing with them.

Besides, Scorpius was pants when it came to Muggle brawling, and at least half the time, Gryffindors seemed to prefer to eschew magic entirely and rely on their fists to settle insults instead of fighting a proper duel. They were so barbaric.

Scorpius was a brilliant dueler but he couldn’t throw a punch to save his life, and he knew it.

That didn’t bother him, generally. A gentleman was supposed to be tough and resolute, of course, but a broken nose was nothing compared to a magical defeat. It was far more important to be good with a wand, which he was, than to be skilled in the crass and vulgar art of fisticuffs, which was hardly an appropriate pastime anyway. Scorpius would take the ability to resist an Imperius Curse over being able to block a punch any day, and he was a very talented Occlumens for a sixteen-year-old. Let’s see how well James Potter could manage _that_ , and if he was still laughing _then_.

Still, Scorpius knew that he sometimes _appeared_ weak, because he was so slim and sharp-featured, and he disliked _that_ very much. Never mind that boys twice his size couldn’t knock him off his broom; never mind that he’d been successfully dueling sixth years when he was only in his third; never mind that he could confront the Bloody Baron without flinching and argue unabashed with Professor Vector; never mind that he could face down grandfather at his most imperious; people sometimes looked at him and assumed that he was frail and fragile, because he looked small and skinny.

Albus had never made that erroneous assumption, thank Merlin, and Scorpius was not about to have him changing his mind _now_.

So he certainly wasn’t about to admit to being a bit _sore_ —

Or he had planned not to, at least, but that was before the two of them had gathered enough energy to get up from the bed and head to the shower to clean all that gunk off. Albus slipped off the bed and Scorpius followed, but winced dreadfully when he touched the floor. He didn’t even have a chance to try and hide his limp before Albus was at his side, wide-eyed and terrified, pulling him back down to the bed and holding him tightly in shaking arms.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Scorpius interrupted the other’s panicky babbling. “I’m only sore, it’s perfectly natural, don’t make a fuss,” he ordered waspishly. He struggled to pull away, miffed, but Albus had him locked in a protective embrace and wasn’t letting go.

Albus turned big, watery green eyes on him and his lip trembled in a pout that threatened imminent tears. “Scor…” he murmured, on the brink of hyper-ventilating.

“Oh honestly,” said Scorpius, and rolled his eyes. “Get a hold of yourself, now, it’s hardly anything to throw a fit over. It’s perfectly normal, the term is anodyspareunia, I’ve read all about—”

“I _hurt_ you,” Albus whimpered. “Oh Merlin, Scor, I’m so sorry…why didn’t you stop me…I never meant to hurt you, _never_ …Salazaar’s herbs, I’m such a horrible bastard…”

“Now stop that,” Scorpius interrupted tersely. “What nonsense.” He frowned. “You didn’t hurt me, you idiot, stop gibbering.”

Albus shut-up, looking wounded and repentant.

Scorpius leaned forward to take the sting out of his words with a kiss. It was the discomfort and, more than that, his annoyance with himself for feeling it, that was making him short-tempered and curt, but he couldn’t take his exasperation out on Albus, no matter how annoying the other boy was being. It was, after all, only because he cared.

“Now, you didn’t _hurt_ me, all right? So calm down, first of all,” Scorpius ordered.

Albus nodded hesitantly, although he didn’t look convinced.

“It was just new, is all, and it was a bit of a strain, I guess, and we did get a little over-enthusiastic— _the both of us_ ,” he added firmly when Albus opened his mouth to apologize. “I didn’t try to stop you at any point, did I?” Scorpius demanded. Albus was forced to shake his head. “No,” the pale boy continued decisively, “as I recall, I did pretty much just the opposite, didn’t I?”

Albus shrugged, then reluctantly nodded once, stiffly.

“So,” said Scorpius, wrapping his arms around Albus’s neck and nosing at him until he had to look up and meet Scorpius’s eyes. “You did exactly what I asked you to, I had as marvelous a time as I’m pretty sure you did, and we got a bit carried away. It’s _not_ a big deal,” he continued with a reassuring kiss. “We’ll just take it easy for a day or two, and be a little less, ah… _enthusiastic_ , next time. You know, until we’re more, um…accustomed to it.” He cleared his throat, trying to fight the urge to blush.

“You…you want to try it again?” Albus gaped.

“Well, not right now,” Scorpius grinned. “But, yeah. I mean, _I_ enjoyed it…didn’t you?”

Albus nodded quickly. “Oh,” he said, “yes. I just…”

“Have gone all Potter and overprotective?”

Albus blushed. “Well…yeah, I guess so,” he admitted. He shrugged and offered a shamefaced smile.

Scorpius rolled his eyes affectionately. “Well, don’t,” he commanded with a kiss.

“Can’t help it,” said Albus.

“I know. Love you anyway.”

“And you’re a snarky git,” Albus smirked, “and a pain in the arse.”

Scorpius couldn’t help but giggle. “Actually,” he pointed out, “in this case, I think _you’re_ the one who was a pain in…”

“Ah!” Albus gasped. “You berk!” He punched Scorpius in the shoulder.

Scorpius snickered. “Guilty,” he confessed with a grin. “Also, I feel terribly messy. I know it’s really only fair of me to allow you a chance to have a little freak-out moment of your own, but honestly, do you mind cutting it short so we can clean up, please?”

Albus laughed. “All right, you ponce, we can go wash up.”

Scorpius stuck his tongue out, so Albus leaned in and captured it.

They snogged playfully for several minutes until Scorpius pulled away, laughing, and tugged Albus to his feet. “Shower now,” he said firmly. “Dinner’s soon, and I don’t imagine you want to go down there looking so grotty.”

Albus paled. “Crap,” he said, “no. Very no.” He hurriedly followed his boyfriend to the bath and tried hard not to notice how gingerly Scorpius was walking. “You, um…you don’t think your parents will know what we, um…what we were…?”

Scorpius shrugged. “No idea,” he said, fiddling with the taps. “Why?”

“Oh, Merlin…” Albus groaned. “Just kill me now?”

“Nope,” Scorpius replied cheerfully. “You’ll just have to wait until you can die of embarrassment at the dinner table like the rest of us do,” he said with a smirk.

“Wanker,” Albus muttered.

“Not today,” grinned Scorpius, and yanked Albus with him underneath the warm stream of water.

Albus sputtered, dashed sopping hair from his eyes, and scowled at his best friend. “Every day,” he said firmly. “Every single day.”

Scorpius laughed.

* * *

Despite his blasé bravado in conversation with Albus, Scorpius was careful not to limp when he walked into the room where his parents were sitting. He felt awkward and stilted, and wasn’t entirely certain of how to act. He was afraid that they were going to see right through him—

Not that it mattered, of course; he just wasn’t keen on his parents knowing all the details of what he and Albus had just been doing. They were going to be insufferable enough already, Scorpius was certain.

Sure enough, when they hurried in—running late, and still damp from the shower that had taken rather more time than they had anticipated; extracurriculars had extended the cleaning process—mother stood up and caught Scorpius on his way to his seat.

She pulled him into a tight hug and kissed both his cheeks and his forehead—which gave Albus plenty of time to dodge past and make it safely to his own seat—and, when she released Scorpius at last, she beamed at the both of them so intensely that she couldn’t speak.

Scorpius rolled his eyes which earned him a censuring eyebrow from his father— _don’t roll your eyes at your mother_ , it said—so Scorpius rolled them at him as well.

Draco smirked.

Astoria’s broad smile lasted through the entire meal and several times she nearly lost the thread of conversation because she was too absorbed with staring in delight at her precious son and his brand new boyfriend to remember to pay attention to anything else.

Scorpius did his best to pretend that she wasn’t acting so silly, but Albus shrugged down in his seat and gave bashful, slightly shame-faced smiles in response whenever he noticed her staring at him, which really must only have encouraged her.

“So,” Draco asked over lavender-glazed quail, “did you boys have an enjoyable afternoon?” His smile twitched smugly and his grey eyes danced with mischief.

Albus turned crimson.

“Yes, thank you father,” Scorpius replied primly. He tried to kick Albus under the table but fell a few centimeters short. He thought about edging his chair in closer, but decided that would be lacking in subtlety.

“Well, I only ask because you both seem a bit tired,” Draco continued innocently, “and as I didn’t notice you out on the pitch, I just thought I’d make sure that everything was all right, and you weren’t perhaps feeling ill, or anything like that.”

Albus paled dramatically. He took an extra-large swallow of wine and coughed when it went down the wrong way in his anxiety. Draco leaned over to pat him on the back obligingly and Albus wondered, vaguely panicky, if he had imagined the brief flash of accusation in his chilly eyes.

_Does he know?_ Albus thought wildly. _Did he notice Scor limping, is he mad at me? Oh, Merlin...he hates me now, he knows I hurt him..._

It occurred to Albus that eating dinner at a Slytherin Potioneer’s house right after not only revealing that you were dating his only child but also shagging said scion upstairs in his own bedroom, and a bit more roughly than you’d intended to do to boot, was probably not on the list of smartest things ever done.

He put his fork down shakily and tried to smile.

Scorpius, meanwhile, did not notice his boyfriend’s sudden discomfort because he was too focused on ignoring his own. He was concentrating very hard on not shifting back-and-forth in his seat, knowing that the motion would be noticed by and, no doubt, commented upon by one or both of his parents. Albus was skittish enough already.

But it was terribly awkward, sitting there with his sore arse aching, trying to ignore the way mother kept beaming and simpering at the both of them, and the smug smiles that father wasn’t even trying to restrain.

Scorpius reminded himself that he should be _glad_ they were both so happy; reminded himself that a scant handful of hours ago he had been practically breathless with fear of disappointing them, of being issued impossible edicts, and of an imminent disownment. He reminded himself that he had no call to be disgruntled when his parents were so obviously, genuinely pleased with what he was choosing to do with his life, and who he was choosing to spend it with.

But it was hard, when they were being so blatantly obnoxious.

Only they weren’t, really, and he knew it. They weren’t acting much out of the ordinary, not under the circumstances; they both fretted, he knew, over the fact that he didn’t have many friends, and probably never would, being both something of a natural introvert and the only living direct descendant of Death Eaters in his generation. Him having a boyfriend—especially a boyfriend that they both _liked—_ was doubtless a weight off their minds. One less thing for them to fret about him being excluded from by his peers—and Draco and Astoria were _very_ accomplished fretters.

Scorpius ordinarily adored his obsessively doting parents, even when they went a bit overboard. He was just cross, right now, because of his current discomfort and the embarrassment that sprang from it. Scorpius told himself, again, that some soreness was to be expected; that it was a perfectly normal reaction; that it did not mean that he was weak, or pathetic.

He didn’t listen. He never did.

Scorpius reviled any trait of his own that even hinted at weakness; he was a Malfoy, after all, and he was thus supposed to be perfect. Perfection did not include _weaknesses_ .

More than once he’d been carried off the Quidditch Pitch half-dead because he’d been too stubborn to stop playing after an injury that he ought to have heeded. More than once he’d landed himself in hospital through sheer stubbornness and a refusal to bow to a physical ailment or magical malady. But malingering in hospital smacked of weakness; getting hurt or falling ill was a mark of failure in the first place, after all, so the convalescent period to recover from such troubles was only made all the worse.

Consequently, Scorpius hated going to see healers, and even more hated being confined to bed rest for any length of time, for any reason. As healers have a great tendency to issue orders of just that sort when confronted with a recalcitrant patient who refuses to rest properly when unsupervised, Scorpius simply avoided such situations as best he could.

Being prone to duels, confrontations, Quidditch playing, and experimental potioneering, however, he found it difficult to avoid the ailments themselves. It was, thus, simply the treatment that he eschewed, for as long as he could get away with it.

As Scorpius was extraordinarily strong-willed, that tended to be rather more often than it should have been, in all honesty.

Right now, of course, he wasn’t so much trying to avoid the healers; he was in no way injured enough to require medical care. He was simply sore, and trying to disguise his discomfort from his parents. Just because they seemed happy with Albus didn’t mean that Scorpius wanted to immediately confront them with certain physical realities of their relationship, especially given how new this particular aspect was.

Besides, there was always the chance that they _wouldn’t_ find it upsetting, and Scorpius didn’t think that he could handle either of them being any more smug or elated than they already were. Best they not be made aware of what, exactly, had gone on upstairs quite yet.

Scorpius chanced a glance at his father as the elves swapped out their dinner for the evening’s desert, and grimaced.

There was always the chance that he already knew.

Draco Malfoy could speak volumes with nothing more than a tilt of his eyebrows and a quirk of his lips and, as Scorpius possessed much the same talent himself, he could usually tell exactly what it was his father wasn’t saying. And right now, what he seemed to not be saying was, “I know what you’ve been doing.”

Scorpius gave him a withering glare, which only made Draco’s smirk widen. Then he winked.

Giving up, Scorpius quickly brought up the subject of Quidditch to distract everyone, and he spent the rest of dinner determinedly avoiding his father’s far-too-knowing eye.

Quidditch finally trailed out over dessert, but ordinary gossip prevailed—Scorpius’s parents perhaps taking pity, and avoiding badgering their precious son _too_ much on the subject of his new romance, despite their keen delight at seeing him so happy—which allowed Scorpius to relax, slightly. He could gossip about society with half his brain on vacation; after sixteen years, such discourse was entirely automatic.

Albeit made thoroughly more enjoyable when it caused Albus to snort his sorbet out his nose at father’s drawling observation of the elderly Mrs. Rosier’s newest fashion _faux pas_. .

That sent mother into such a fit of hysterics that she had to leave the table to compose herself. Scorpius took that as the perfect opportunity to escape himself, and quickly requested that he and Albus be excused. Albus hesitated only a moment before abandoning his last few scoops of sorbet, and joining Scorpius in hasty (determinedly-not-limping) retreat.

Scorpius didn’t get far, however. His father caught his arm at the doorway and drew him aside, nodding to Albus to indicate that the other boy could keep going, if he wished. Albus's tanned cheeks paled dramatically. He gulped, nodded, and chose to lurk just the other side of the door, terror blazing in his bright green eyes.

Scorpius pulled on his best haughtily-ignorant expression of innocent boredom and turned to face his father. “Yes, sir?” he said. “Was there something else?”

“I thought perhaps you might not turn down a little healing charm,” Draco replied, his tone utterly bland but his mouth twisted into a smug smile that almost hid his concern.

Scorpius could feel his face turn dark pink. “I—that’s really not—necessary—that is to say—”

“I didn’t say it was necessary,” Draco said mildly, his smirk still appallingly smug. “I merely thought it might be appreciated.”

Scorpius blushed harder. He refused to look over his shoulder at Albus, but he was certain that his friend must be moments away from apoplectic shock at this point. He didn’t meet his father’s eyes, either, but rather fixed on the empty air just to the left of Draco’s face, which seemed slightly less mortifying than actual eye contact.

“I...I suppose,” Scorpius said grudgingly.

Draco’s smirk twitched and he reached into his vest for his wand. A practised flick of the shaft made Scorpius wince, then relax as the sharp twinge of the charm faded into cool relief. He still ached, a bit, but not nearly so much as before; now it was more like the usual soreness one felt after a long match, rather than the pain of unused muscles being put through their first grueling practice after making the Slytherin team. 

“Thank you,” Scorpius said, as primly as he could with his face on fire and his dignity shattered.

“But of course,” his father drawled. Over Scorpius’s modestly turned-away head, Draco caught Albus’s gaze. He gave the dark-haired boy a quirked eyebrow that, to Albus, seemed to say quite clearly that Mr. Malfoy would overlook the situation this one time, due to their inexperience, but that if Albus ever hurt his son again...

Albus gulped, and nodded, and retreated with Scorpius, who was very deliberately not looking at his father for fear of dropping dead from sheer embarrassment.

Draco’s serious (yet still irrepressibly smug) expression held while the two boys fled, but the moment the door shut behind them, he snickered. He turned and headed off in the opposite direction, following the path that Astoria had taken when she had sought composure after Albus’s hysteria-inducing misfortune with the sorbet.

She would no doubt be wondering what Draco was up to, and why he had not yet joined her in the library for their usual evening interlude of reading and...recreation.

His thin smile turned lascivious, and he walked a bit faster. It was, after all, quite rude to keep a lady waiting, and Draco Malfoy might be many deplorable things, but he was still a gentleman.

And Astoria was such a  _delightful_ lady.

_* * *_

“Oh, Merlin!” Scorpius collapsed on his bed and buried his face in the nearest pillow. He wondered if his cheeks were burning hot enough to actually catch the silky fabric on fire, and decided that he didn’t much care if they did.

Albus flopped down next to him with a lengthy groan.

“I can’t _believe_ my dad sometimes... _or_ my mum,” Scorpius muttered. His words came out muffled due to the pillow that was nearly suffocating him, but he could feel the bed tremble as Albus shook his head violently in fervent agreement, so he must have been intelligible nonetheless.

“I kind of thought he was going to kill me, for a minute there,” Albus confessed in a small voice. He shuddered.

“Don’t be absurd,” Scorpius replied automatically, “he wouldn’t dare. Your death would upset me, see, so—”

“Oh, you’d be _upset_ , would you?” Albus interrupted. “I feel so flattered.”

Scorpius elbowed him in the side. “Prat,” he said. “Do you want to be comforted or not?” He raised his head from the pillow just far enough to pair his words with a glaring pout.

Albus seemed to think it over very hard. “I could probably stand some comforting,” he mused after a few minutes. A smirk played teasingly as the corner of his mouth. “Although personally, I think I would prefer less logic-based comfort, and more cuddling.”

Scorpius sniffed. “Well, all you get is logic,” he said primly, and dropped his face back into the pillow. “Take it or leave it,” he mumbled into the down-stuffed bag. He sniffed again; yes, the sheets had definitely been replaced with fresh ones. That was good, in that they really had gotten the last set terribly messy, but Scorpius did rather miss the way his pillow had smelled like Albus when he’d woken up. He wondered if he could instruct the Elves to leave the pillows aside the next time they changed the bedding.

His reverie was interrupted by sharp fingers prodding at his ribs. Scorpius squawked and thrashed away from the tickling. “Hey!” he yelped.

Albus grinned wickedly, moving forward after Scorpius, not letting him escape. “I think I’m going to leave the logic, and take the cuddling anyway,” he said. “What do you have to say to that?”

Scorpius’s reply was lost in shrieked laughter as Albus attacked him, tickling every inch he could reach. Scorpius toppled over, and Albus followed, prodding him mercilessly. Scorpius was not really _particularly_ ticklish, but there was this spot on his sides, right along his last few ribs, that really was extraordinarily sensitive. Albus always knew just where to touch, too, to make him writhe...

“I thought that’s what you’d say,” Albus nodded smugly. “I think you’ll find my response pretty convincing, though.”

Scorpius tried to squirm away and pressed his elbows against his sides, ready to try and fend off more tickling, but Albus leaned over further and instead he captured Scorpius’s mouth with his own.

Scorpius immediately stopped trying to shield himself, and wrapped his arms around Albus’s neck. They didn’t stay there long, as Scorpius arched up into the kiss, running his fingers along Albus’s neck and down to his waist, where he could un-tuck his shirt and reach up underneath the soft fabric to find his bare chest.

Albus shivered, and pressed himself down against Scorpius, rubbing their most sensitive bits together right through their clothes. The clasp of Scorpius’s belt was cold on his bare stomach, and Albus gasped into the other boy’s mouth.

Scorpius captured his lip and teased at it with his teeth, sucking gently before he thrust his tongue inside and swirled it around exploratorily. Albus gasped again, and moaned into the kiss. He tangled his fingers in the silky paleness of Scorpius’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make the other boy wince and squirm closer. Then there were fingers at Albus’s waist again, but this time they were groping at his trousers rather than his T-shirt.

Albus squirmed, not sure whether he was trying to help or hinder, and Scorpius got the fly undone and started easing the aged denims—and the boxers squashed beneath—down his thighs. “Scor...” Albus panted, in between kisses and nips, “wait, come on...bad idea...healing charms aren’t...they take a while to set...you don’t...don’t want to...”

“Obviously,” Scorpius sneered right through a heady kiss, the word vibrating along Albus’s jaw-line. Scor leaned back just enough so that Albus could make out the grin on his face, and the faint hint of a restrained eye-roll. Al didn’t know how, but Scorpius made condescension look hot. He licked the pale arch of his neck.

Scorpius let Albus get good and distracted, then suddenly grabbed his shoulders, scissored his legs, and rolled Albus over onto his back. He climbed after, following, and settled himself straddled splay-legged across Albus’s waist. Albus yelped, then grinned.

“Oh,” he said, blushing furiously, “okay then...we can, um...do that, s-sure...”

But Albus had apparently misinterpreted and Scorpius, it appeared, was not taking requests right now, either. The pale boy ignored Albus’s half-formed assumptive offer, running his hands up the inside of Albus’s shirt, then dragging his smooth nails lightly down the sensitive skin, making Albus shiver.

His shivers turned into a full-on jolt of shock when his cock was suddenly encased by something warm and wet and blissful. Albus gasped and Scorpius licked the tip, his pink tongue flicking out to lap up the beads of pre-cum glistening on Albus’s eager shaft. Albus squirmed in delight.

“You were saying something?” Scorpius said, glancing up at Albus, as if his ears had just caught up, and passed on the delayed message.

“No,” Albus said firmly, because whatever he had been saying, it was not only irrelevant but forgotten, and the most important thing right now was that Scorpius stop talking and return his attention—and his mouth—to what he was doing before.

Scorpius grinned, and did so with enthusiasm.

This time, it was Albus who writhed.


	6. At the Potters', Pre-Confession

Scorpius stumbled on his way out of the floo. He didn’t ordinarily find the Potters’ fireplace difficult to maneuver, but nerves made him clumsy today. Albus caught his arm and helped him climb out. They grinned at one another, and left their fingers companionably interlaced.

“Oh, great, you brought your little boyfriend.”

They both jumped, not having realized that there was anyone else in the room with them, but there was: James Potter, Albus’s older brother. He was sitting on the far couch, checking the twigs of the broomstick balanced on his knees.

Albus quickly started to move away from Scorpius, remembered why they were there, and stopped. He stared defiantly at James and gripped Scorpius’s hand tighter.

James was, as usual, looking at them with disgust. It was his general reaction to Scorpius Malfoy’s presence, and Albus generally had Scorpius with him. That was why James had started teasing them for being “boyfriends” during their first year of school: their constant inseparability.

Now, of course, they actually _were_ boyfriends, but James didn’t know that.

He’d find out soon enough; that was what Albus and Scorpius were here to confess to Albus’s parents and siblings, over—or perhaps after—dinner.

“I _told_ mum and dad Scor was coming,” Albus said, glaring. “Not my fault if you never listen when people talk.”

James grinned. “I listen fine when people talk,” he said, “just not when snakes hiss.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t speak Parseltongue.” James stuck his tongue out at his brother and made exaggerated hissing noises.

“Or English, I’ve noted,” Scorpius drawled boredly.

James scowled at his little brother’s best friend. “Who gave the Snake Princess permission to speak?” he asked.

“Sod off, James,” Albus snapped.

James shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “I’m heading off for Quidditch with the cousins. We’re going to the Burrow, if you want to come…you can bring your snakey little boyfriend too, I guess,” he added grudgingly. "He's not completely useless on a broomstick, at least."

“No thanks,” Albus said icily.

James shrugged again. “Suit yourself,” he said, and slung his broom over his shoulder. “Later, snakes,” he called on his way out the door. James was seventeen now, and old enough to Apparate, which he did at every available opportunity rather than traveling via floo. Floo-travel was, he said, for babies. He said it a lot when Albus or Lily were around; he liked to rub in the fact that he was of age now, and allowed to do magic outside of school.

Albus, who could get away with a great deal of magic himself, at least when he was at Scorpius’s house—the Malfoys did not adhere to Ministry decrees the way Albus’s family generally did, so long as nobody was watching them—tried not to let on how much this annoyed him.

Of course James, a true blue (or, rather, red-and-gold) Gryffindor and a cheerful, irrepressible trouble-maker, generally annoyed Albus no matter what he did, so that was nothing new.

Today, though, for some reason, Albus was in no mood to take any guff from his older brother, not even the ordinary banter that had overtaken any expressions of affection between the two of them years ago. Perhaps it was because he was nervous about what lay ahead; perhaps it was just freshly boosted confidence from their successful confession to Scorpius’s parents yesterday. Whatever the reason, Albus scowled at his brother’s retreating back, and made a sudden decision.

“Right,” he said, as the door slammed behind James, “let’s go upstairs. There’s, like…” he checked his watch, “an hour-and-a-half, maybe two, before dinner. Could be longer, if everybody gets distracted playing pick-up Quidditch. At any rate, though, it should give us plenty of time.”

“Time for what?” Scorpius asked, following Albus to the stairs.

Albus paused with his foot on the first one, turned around, and grinned. His green eyes glinted with a distinctly Slytherin sparkle; it was an expression that Lily Evans had probably never worn, although her troublemaking husband might have.

“Sex,” said Albus. “Time for sex.”

Scorpius’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” he said.

Albus grinned wider and started up the stairs. “I think it’s my turn, don’t you?” he asked mischievously. “And if we’ve got time to kill and the house to ourselves…why not?”

Scorpius followed hesitantly. “I…I’m not sure that…”

“Hey,” said Albus, falling well short of the light-hearted tone he was aiming for, “it may be our only chance to use my room. If mum and dad kick me out after dinner…” he shrugged lightly, but his smile was tremulous.

Scorpius ran up the rest of the stairs and caught Albus in a hug in front of his bedroom door. “That won’t happen,” he murmured.

“Well,” said Albus bracingly, “your parents seemed pretty amenable to the idea of me moving in if it does, so…”

“Well it’s not going to happen,” Scorpius said firmly. “It’s _not_.”

“Well, I just don’t think it would be the same using a guest room at your house,” Albus said with determined cheerfulness. “I mean, that might be ‘my’ room, but this is definitely _my_ room, so…” His grin this time was bright and enticing. “What better place to get fucked the first time, right?”

Scorpius blushed. “Well, it worked for me…” he muttered.

Albus laughed. “Exactly,” he said, and pushed the door open.

Albus’s bedroom was large by ordinary standards, although decidedly smaller than the sprawling, nearly palatial one that Scorpius had. It did not, for example, have its own adjoining sitting room. It was cluttered, and cozy, and distinctly green.

Albus had been at first horrified and ashamed of his sorting, but as time passed, he’d come to terms with it and even, in recent years, come to appreciate being a Slytherin and could honestly say that he was glad he’d been sorted there rather than into one of the other houses, especially Gryffindor.

He really wouldn’t have fit in amongst all those lions.

So, partly to celebrate his newfound self-confidence, and partly to tell James to sod off, he had redecorated his room two years ago, and the prevailing color scheme had been green with gray accents. Lily thought it looked pretty and “almost habitable by humans, which was an improvement as far as brothers’ rooms went.” James thought it was obnoxious, and more than once loudly announced how much he hated it. He refused to ever set foot in such an “awful, snakey room,” although he had regretted his vow as soon as he’d made it; it was hard to torment your siblings if you couldn’t enter their bedrooms.

He’d broken his decree many times in order to torment Albus, but the spirit of the vow remained: he hated his brother’s bedroom, and avoided it whenever possible. When not possible, he simply made fun of it. And, of course, in retaliation, he had re-decorated his own room in pure Gryffindor colors.

Although neither boy knew it, their bedrooms looked as though they had been reverted to an earlier incarnation of the house, because while James Sirius Potter slept where his second namesake had, Albus Severus’s room had once belonged to Sirius’s little brother, Regulus Arcturus. The Noble House of Black might not exactly be getting back to its pure-blooded roots, but it was certainly regressing to the sort of house-based sibling rivalry that its last set of brothers had reveled in.

Harry tried not to let that worry him.

He failed.

But right now, Harry Potter was not at home. No one was save for Kreacher (down somewhere near the kitchen, no doubt, tidying up before dinner), their crotchety old House Elf; Albus, Harry’s second-child and youngest son; and Scorpius Malfoy, Albus’s best friend and (momentarily secret) boyfriend.

Scorpius was currently backed up against the firmly closed door of Albus’s bedroom, and getting the daylights snogged out of him. Albus was trying to convince his boyfriend that shagging in the middle of the afternoon, despite their imminent dinner engagement with Albus’s parents and siblings, was a brilliant idea.

His arguments weren’t particularly eloquent, but Scorpius was nonetheless swayed.

It didn’t take them long to get their clothing off, even with their rather less-than-helpful attempts to assist one another. Impatient hormones made an excellent motivator for speed. The fact that Albus was in a bit of a temper because of his brother, and eager to stick it to James by getting it stuck to him, so to speak, surely didn’t hurt either.

“This…isn’t a good idea,” Scorpius panted. Despite his protestations, he didn’t pause in his efforts to struggle out of his trousers. His only hesitation came from the fact that it was hard to catch his breath or form coherent sentences with Albus paying that kind of attention to his neck and shoulders.

They stumbled to Albus’s bed, Albus swearing distractedly when he stubbed his foot on a heavy iron cauldron lying on the floor. Scorpius snickered until he ran into the corner of _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five_ , and yelped at discovering how sharp that corner was.

They left a trail of clothing behind them. Even in Albus’s cluttered room that stood out, because while Albus did have an unfortunate tendency to leave his clothes on the floor, he tended to wear mostly tee-shirts and jeans, sometimes a patterned button-down or heavily-pocketed shorts. Scorpius, by contrast, dressed like some costume-reject from the Wizarding World of 1892, and his elegant, slightly dandified clothes didn’t belong crumpled on any floor, least of all Albus’s.

Scorpius was, for once, too distracted to care about being neat. Right now all of his attention was focused on Albus, and on snogging him senseless. And then, after that, other things that did not necessarily prohibit snogging, but were a bit more involved than the mere exchange of saliva, pleasurable although that was.

He suddenly stopped and drew back slightly on the bed. “Oh for Merlin’s sake,” he cursed, “we can’t.”

“Can’t?” said Albus. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t…this,” said Scorpius, blushing slightly.

Albus frowned. “Why not?” he demanded.

“Well, I…I didn’t bring, um…” Words failed Scorpius; he shrugged helplessly, his face absolutely crimson.

“Oh!” said Albus. He hoped off the bed and retrieved his jeans from their denim puddle on the floor. He stumbled back distractedly, fishing in the pockets. “You mean this?” he asked with a grin, producing a small jar.

Scorpius’s grey eyes widened. “Yes,” he said, bewildered.

Albus’s smile turned broad and smug. “Got it covered,” he said, sliding back onto the bed next to Scorpius. “I thought I’d bring it along just in case,” he explained while he nibbled Scorpius’s ear. “After all,” he added with an exaggerated eyebrow-waggle, “it turned out to be bloody useful to have around after we told _your_ parents…”

Scorpius laughed. “I know,” he said with a grin, “I’m still a bit stiff.”

Albus—whose fears over hurting his boyfriend had dissipated with Scorpius’s initial soreness—grinned back. “Well, get stiffer,” he teased. “It’s your turn to do the work, and you won’t be much good if you’re not.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “You’re hilarious,” he lied dryly.

“Yep,” said Albus, “I know.” He tossed the jar to Scorpius who, despite having been looking in completely the opposite direction, caught it easily with the reflexes of an experienced Chaser.

Albus followed the jar with his mouth, kissing Scorpius until they both had to at last break away in order to gasp for air. They ended up lying on the bed, Scorpius on his back and Albus pressed on top of him, snogging for several minutes. It wasn’t until the kissing got interrupted by the volume and frequency of their moans as they rubbed against one another that they remembered what they were meant to be doing.

Scorpius sat up and Albus quickly rolled over to lie on his back. He felt suddenly nervous as he spread his legs, despite how many times Scorpius had finger-fucked him before with those delightfully dexterous digits. Albus shoved the fluttery feeling aside as much as he could and gave Scorpius the best devil-may-care grin he could muster.

Scorpius grinned back, his icy eyes glittering. Then a long, graceful finger, thickly coated in lube, slipped easily inside of Albus. He groaned, going utterly hard at the feeling of Scorpius inside of him. Scorpius thrust with his finger, swirling it around and sideways and back several times before adding a second one and repeating the exquisite, tortuous process with both of them.

Albus shivered. Scorpius’s fingers felt, as always, amazing. Albus reminded himself that something even _better_ would be coming soon, and tried not to get carried away bucking against Scor’s fingers. If he let himself cum now, well, it would be fun…but _not_ what he had planned.

And he wanted _that_ , desperately.

“Please…” he moaned.

“Patience,” Scorpius retorted smugly.

Albus scowled at him. Scorpius just snickered, unrepentant, and scissored his fingers. Albus squirmed deliriously, moaning as he stretched and shivered. Scorpius leaned down and licked his way from Albus’s naval to his lips, then captured them for a long, proper snog. Albus moaned into Scorpius’s mouth and bucked, pressing himself down on Scorpius’s fingers.

Scorpius slowly drew them out, leaving Albus gasping and empty. He swore, panting and desperate and sticky. Scorpius smirked, the expression on his face dangerous, then suddenly bent over, closing his mouth around the head of Albus’s cock.

Albus—caught completely by surprise—thrust upwards, but Scorpius had been expecting something like that, and moved with him. His mouth was hot and wet around Albus’s trembling, dripping cock, and he ran his tongue around and through the slit in the throbbing tip. Albus moaned, shuddering.

“You…bastard,” he gasped.

Scorpius chuckled, the sound vibrating all along Albus’s hard, pulsing length. Albus whimpered.

He didn’t realize that Scorpius had reached for the lube again until the fingers returned, slipping back inside to freshly coat him with gobs of the cool, slick liquid. Albus squirmed around them, delighted with the feeling yet tortured by the knowledge that it wasn’t enough.

“Do it!” he pleaded desperately. “Now, please!”

Scorpius slid his mouth off of Albus’s cock, a thin line of saliva and pre-cum glistening down his chin. “Okay,” he said quietly. He looked very pale and nervous, and he swallowed hard. Scorpius slathered more of the lubrication on himself, then carefully shut the jar and set it aside. He paused, chewing on his lip.

“Are you sure about this?” Scorpius asked quietly.

“Oh Hell yes,” said Albus fervently. He wriggled on the bed, sliding closer to Scorpius and spreading his legs. “I am so bloody sure,” he said, grinning.

“Okay,” Scorpius said again, with a very small smile. Then he leaned down, carefully positioning his own cock against Albus’s wet, twitching entrance. The thin ring of muscles throbbed and pulled, drawing Scorpius forward. He pressed in and Albus’s moan seemed to go on forever. Scorpius didn’t realize that he’d groaned as well; he was too distracted by how it felt, and the sounds that Albus was making, to listen to himself.

Albus clutched at the bedcovers, at Scorpius’s arms, at his shoulders; he tangled his fingers in Scorpius’s silky hair, hanging on as if for dear life. He braced himself, pressing down to meet each thrust, but he still slipped backwards on the bed each time Scorpius pressed forward. Albus was shaking, almost convulsing around the throbbing length of Scorpius; he felt raw and wet and open and so very, very tight.

The slick hardness of Scorpius’s cock rubbed against his taut walls, stretching him wider with every push. Albus groaned, utterly lost in the ecstasy of having Scorpius moving inside of him. The thick shaft didn’t have the graceful dexterity of Scorpius’s fingers, but it didn’t need that; it was so broad, and Albus so tight, that it pressed against every side at once, filling him to the brink and further with each careful thrust.

Albus didn’t realize that he was pleading until Scorpius retorted with a refusal. “No,” he gasped, his grey eyes heavy-lidded slits, “don’t be…daft, I’ll hurt you if I…go any…faster.”

“Please,” Albus begged, “please, I need you, I need all of you, now, please…hurt me, please, just…just fuck me…oh, Merlin…fuck all of me, please, put it in…faster, all the way…” He was panting, shoving against Scorpius’s cock, barely aware of the words tumbling out of his mouth. They seemed to have issued of their own accord, although Albus couldn’t deny that they held wisdom. He _did_ need Scorpius, all of him, right now.

He kept up the entreaties—although they grew steadily less coherent—but Scorpius stubbornly resisted his pleas, although he trembled violently with the effort of such restraint. Albus moaned, enjoying the way that Scorpius’s body shook, pressed so closely next to his own, and within him as well.

Albus felt like he was going to snap in half, he was filled so far beyond the brim. Scorpius thrust harder, scraping all the way back to Albus’s depths.

Albus had lost his grip on Scorpius’s tousled hair; at some point his arms had ended up flung helplessly over his head, and his fingers tangled with one another senselessly. His legs were wrapped tightly around Scorpius, urging him onwards. Albus’s whole body shook and he writhed deliciously with each long, deep push.

Something bright and hot exploded in front of Albus’s vision, and in his straining arse, and he screamed with the pleasure of it. Scorpius gasped and repeated the thrust, and Albus cried out again. He followed the cry with words, although he was too enraptured by what Scorpius was doing to him to make any sense of what he was saying. He couldn’t imagine that Scorpius was in any state to make note of his words either, though, so it didn’t matter what he said. Nobody was listening.

Except that someone was.

The door burst open, thudding heavily into the opposite wall. One of the hinges creaked ominously, but magical engineering was not so easily shattered as that. The door held, although now it stood wide open, revealing Albus and Scorpius in all their delirious pleasure to the gaping figure standing in the doorway.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing!”

The boys looked over for the first time, suddenly aware that they were no longer alone in the room. Their flushed faces paled, and their rhythm faltered.

“Dad—what the fuck—?”

“Get off him!” snapped Harry Potter, crossing the room with six long strides. He grabbed Scorpius’s arm and wrenched the skinny pure-blood away from his son.

The two boys came apart with a wet pop, and Albus yelped.

Scorpius—somehow looking bone-white and crimson with mortification at the same time—clutched at the wrinkled blanket for modesty. His grey eyes were wide with shock and terror.

Albus, by contrast, was merely outraged. He hid his own throbbing erection with the nearest pillow and scowled at his father. “What the hell was that?”

“That’s what I’d like to know!” Harry bellowed back. He looked furious, and Scorpius suddenly realized how his best friend’s cheerful, easy-going father had managed to frighten so many people twenty-five years ago. Scorpius pulled the blanket up to his chin, wishing desperately that he could Apparate.

“Well what did it bloody look like?” Albus snapped.

Harry rocked back on his heels as if he’d been slapped. “Yes—but—why?” he stammered. Then the scowl was back, and he whipped around to glower at Scorpius Malfoy. “What did you do?” he snarled.

Scorpius shrank in on himself. “I—I—” he stuttered, fear of the angry Auror in front of him strangling his usual eloquence. He couldn’t very well have talked his way out of this one, anyway; what could they say: “oops, we tripped?”

“What’d you do?” Harry repeated fiercely. “Was it a spell or a potion? What did you use, and why? Was it Amortentia? I swear, if you’ve Imperiused him…” With every accusation, Harry advanced a step further. Scorpius drew back until he was pressed against the bedroom wall. He looked frozen with terror.

“Shut-up!” Albus yelled. Harry started, spinning around to look at his son again. “I can’t believe you!” Albus continued angrily, his green eyes swimming with tears beneath their heavy scowl. “Amortentia? Imperius? For Merlin’s sake, dad! How could you even _think_ —even _suggest_ —!”

“Albus, don’t worry about it,” Harry said quietly, his anger shunting sideways into concern as he turned to face his son. “I promise, I’ll get this sorted out, and everything will be—”

“Everything was all right until you came in here spouting that shit!”

“Albus!” Harry snapped instinctively, “language.”

“If you don’t want me swearing,” Albus retorted, “don’t say such crazy awful bollocks!”

“Albus, just calm down,” Harry soothed. “I’ll figure out what’s going on, and how to fix it—”

“What’s going _on_ ,” Albus said, “is that we were _shagging_ , dad. At least until _you_ interrupted, that is.”

Harry flushed uncomfortably. “Yes,” he said tersely, “I could tell. And I promise, whatever it was—whatever he did to you to make you…you know…I’ll fix it. Whatever spell he cast, or—”

“He didn’t cast any bloody spell!” Albus snapped.

“Well then why were you letting him shag you!” Harry snapped right back.

“Because he’s my boyfriend!” Albus yelled. He slumped back on the disheveled bed, hugging the pillow. “That’s what I was gonna tell you and mum tonight,” he muttered, “after dinner. That was the plan.”

“Your… _boyfriend?_ ” Harry repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah,” said Albus defiantly, “my boyfriend.” He reached out for Scorpius’s arm and pulled the other boy towards him; Scorpius came slowly, the hand that was holding his blanket white-knuckled. He pressed himself tightly against Albus’s side and watched Harry balefully as if expecting some sort of attack. Scorpius was suddenly very conscious of his parentage, and of Harry Potter’s fame. He realized that he wasn’t sure exactly where his wand had ended up, and felt suddenly nakeder than before. He swallowed hard and licked lips that had gone painfully dry.

Albus wrapped an arm around Scorpius’s thin shoulders and glared at his father, daring him to protest.

Harry just stared, his expression utterly bewildered. “Your boyfriend?” he said again.

“Yes,” Albus said pointedly, “so if you could maybe stop prattling on like a crazy person about spells and potions and poisons…”

“But…I don’t understand,” said Harry. “I mean…how can he be your boyfriend?”

“Well we’re dating,” said Albus shortly. “I understand that generally signifies.”

“But you aren’t gay,” said Harry.

“Obviously I am,” Albus snapped.

“Oh,” said Harry. He blinked. “Really?”

Albus’s cheeks went red. “I was just getting shagged up the arse and enjoying it,” he muttered, outrage warring with embarrassment, “so I’d say, yeah.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell us?” his father asked. “Or, did your mum know?”

“No,” said Albus, “I don’t think so, anyway. I mean, I haven’t told her. So unless she figured it out…” Albus shrugged.

“Oh,” said Harry again. “So…you’re gay?”

“Yes,” said Albus.

“And…you’re dating _Scorpius?”_

“Yes,” Albus said again, more pointedly. His grip on Scorpius’s shoulder tightened.

Harry went crimson. “Oh,” he said, “hell. I’ve just made an awful prat of myself, haven’t I?”

“You think?” said Albus.

“Shit,” said Harry. “I mean, crap. I mean, sorry. I mean… _crap_.” He shook his head. “Oh…bollocks.” He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his forehead, where his scar used to twinge. “I’ve cocked this up mightily, haven’t I?” he sighed.

Albus started to relax, just slightly, his own temper ebbing a little bit as his father’s anger evaporated. “Yes,” he agreed.

Harry sighed again. “I’m sorry, I just…I didn’t know, I mean, I thought that…well I heard you, erm, heard you yell, and I thought something was wrong, maybe that you’d been brewing something that had backfired—I know you do that, don’t bother denying it—and…” He shrugged. Albus said nothing; under the circumstances, trying to convince his father that he didn’t engage in the occasional bit of illicit underage magic seemed pretty pointless.

“Well, so I came in and… _that_ ,” Harry said, lamely.

“That?” Albus said, raising an eyebrow.

“And, and I didn’t know you were gay—you never _told_ me—it would have made sense, I guess, kind of, if I’d known…” Harry eyed Scorpius uncertainly, wondering if _that_ would ever make sense. “And, well, I just assumed…”

“That Scor had bewitched me?” Albus finished, incredulous.

Scorpius made a strangled noise of indignation but did not speak; he was still leery of interrupting, even with Harry Potter now considerably more mellow than he had been moments earlier.

“Well,” said Harry, “yes.” He gave a shamefaced shrug. “I mean…yes?” he said. “I mean, well, I did think you _weren’t_ gay, so…I dunno what other assumption you’d expect me to come to, given the, er…situation…”

“Maybe one that doesn’t include my best friend bespelling me so he can get into my trousers?” Albus snapped. Scorpius blushed terribly.

“Er…” said Harry, “sorry.” He offered Scorpius a hesitant smile of apology.

Scorpius just nodded, somewhat unwillingly. Ordinarily he’d have been outraged at such an insult, but he was still half-convinced that Harry Potter was a hairsbreadth away from hexing him, so he said nothing.

Albus sulkily settled himself next to his boyfriend. “I can’t believe that was your first thought,” he muttered petulantly. “And you wonder why Gryffindors and Slytherins can’t get on better, with you lot jumping to conclusions like _that_ about us…”

“I said I was sorry,” Harry protested. “And it’s got nothing to do with house status, anyway,” he added. “It’s just…” His voice trailed away into shadows stretching nearly three decades into the past.

Scorpius bristled. “I beg your pardon,” he said icily. “You may accuse my family of a great many things, _sir_ , but a necessity of relying upon _love spells_ ,” he spat disgustedly, “is not, I think, one of them.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said quickly. “I was just…caught off-guard, that’s all. It was, erm…well, kind of a…a shocking sight, you have to admit, to just stumble on out of nowhere…”

Both boys blushed at that, although Scorpius still looked cross underneath the mortification. Neither one of them could bring themselves to meet Harry’s eyes though, which was just as well, because he was having a hard time trying to meet theirs.

“Anyway,” said Harry, after an awkward silence, “how, um, how long have you two been, er…”

“Dating?” Scorpius asked.

“Shagging?” Albus said at the same time.

Harry’s ears turned pink. “Er—whatever,” he said.

“A few months,” Albus admitted. “Er, the dating, that is. The shagging’s a bit newer. Lots newer, actually.”

Harry nodded. “Well, I just hope you’re being, you know, safe and all…”

“Merlin’s beard, dad!” Albus exclaimed. His face went as crimson as his father’s. Scorpius hunched down, pulling the blanket up to his nose and trying to turn invisible. “Yes!” said Albus, “yes, for the love of everything stop talking, dad, stop talking forever!”

“Sorry,” said Harry, looking everywhere but at the two boys cringing with embarrassment in front of him. “I’m your dad, I have to ask…”

“We’re fine! We’re great! We’re dandy! Please go away now!” Albus cried.

“Right,” said Harry. He nodded, still looking away. “Well, um. Yeah. Right, then. So, uh…dinner, um, dinner will be in…uh, an hour or so, I guess…if you want to, um…come on down, then…your mum’ll want to, um, talk to you, too, so…”

“Yeah,” said Albus, “okay, right. Thank you. Please go away.”

“Right,” Harry nodded again. “Right, okay. Yeah.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly, then muttered, “right,” again, and quickly sped out of the room.

He was careful to tug the door very tightly closed behind him.


	7. At the Potters', Explaining

Albus’s cheeks were still red forty-five minutes later when he dragged himself downstairs. Scorpius, trailing the taller boy reluctantly, was himself so pale that he looked more like an inferi than a living person.

Harry Potter, looking extraordinarily awkward, sat fiddling with a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

Albus looked at his father and felt an overwhelming surge of embarrassment mingled with a hot flash of anger. Embarrassment, obviously, because of the mortifying position that he had just been caught in, and the rather unfortunate things they had said to one another; anger because of the interruption.

The boys had not, after all, gotten to finish what they had been doing before Albus’s father walked in. Scorpius had refused to be convinced or cajoled, and had put his foot down quite as hard as was possible on the matter; he could not, would not, resume fucking Harry Potter’s son in the man’s own home, not after seeing how upset the activity had made him. He did not think it proper.

Albus would have liked to take “proper” and throw it quite as hard as he could out the window, and was more than frustrated enough right now to break plate glass without effort, but Scorpius had refused to budge. Had refused, in fact, even to substitute other, lesser pleasures for the interrupted one. He wouldn’t even hold Albus’s hand in front of his father, now.

So Albus swore under his breath, and glared at his father even as his face flushed and his stomach twisted, and he led a trepidatious Scorpius into the room. They were both damp from showers that had, unfortunately, been taken separately, and as deflated as they were, the boys looked a little bit like half-drowned rodents.

“Hey, dad,” Albus muttered.

Harry grunted and smiled at the boys, although the expression was awkward and uncomfortably twisted. He stirred his well-blended tea just to have something to do with his hands, which felt out-of-place and clumsy.

“I, um...I guess we should talk,” Albus mumbled.

Harry grunted again, with a frightened little smile and a nod. He jerked a hand to indicate that the boys were welcome to join him at the table.

Albus and Scorpius exchanged glances. Scorpius looked frightened, and awkward as he always did when in a kitchen; the pure-blood boy, with his house full of Elves, was never sure how to act when in his friends’ parents’ houses, where kitchens were places to both eat and socialize in.

Albus, while nearly as pale as his boyfriend, looked by contrast determined and almost belligerent. He was still running mostly off of frustration and insult, and part of him—the small part that was red-and-gold, rather than green-and-silver—was spoiling a little bit for a fight.

He tried to tamper that impulse, though, because Harry Potter wore an expression of contrite eagerness, like he was sorry for what he had said, and assumed, and desperate now to make up for it. Albus reminded himself that his father was as prone to making mistakes as anyone else, and that at least he had admitted he _had_ been mistaken, and seemed willing now to listen to his son’s explanation.

Albus took a deep breath, squeezed Scorpius’s hand, and sat down at the the kitchen table.

“So,” he said, “umm...we’re dating, then. Scor and I.”

Harry nodded earnestly. “Right, yeah,” he said, “I got that. Um...why?”

Albus stared. “Um...because I’m in love with him?”

Scorpius went slightly pink, and ducked his head, but a small smile played across his thin lips.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Right.” He fell silent then, actually twiddling his thumbs around the handle of his mug, because he could think of nothing else to say.

Neither could Albus, who looked away from his father, and wished that he had some tea of his own to fiddle with.

Scorpius coughed lightly, but said nothing, and went pale when both Potters turned to look at him. “Sorry,” he muttered, and dropped his gaze to his knees.

That distracted Albus for a few minutes, because _knees_ meant _lap,_ and there was something in Scorpius’s lap that he was _very_ interested in, and that he’d been planning to pay a lot more attention to an hour ago before his father had interrupted them...

But Harry interrupted again, and Albus flushed, as if he’d been caught thinking those sort of things aloud. “So, uh,” Harry Potter said, scratching the back of his neck and making eye-contact with no one, “how, um, how long have you two been, er...?”

“About three months ago,” Albus answered quickly. He didn’t think now was the time to remind his father that he had already asked that question; the less Harry remembered of that horrifying scene in the bedroom, Albus figured, the better.

Scorpius glanced sideways, but resisted the urge to point out that Albus had been decidedly more pedantic about time allotted when it had been _his_ father they had been explaining themselves to.

“Ah,” said Harry. He stirred his tea.

They all fidgeted again, in silence.

“Maybe...maybe I should go...” Scorpius said quietly, standing up.

“No!” Albus yelped, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and yanking him back into his seat.

“Okay,” said Scorpius, “sorry. I just thought...” He trailed off, the silence falling back over all of them, thick and heavy.

Harry Potter wore an expression of mild disappointment that he quickly disguised by taking a long drink of his tea. He wouldn’t have minded the chance to discuss this earth-shaking news with his son in private, but he had had several years, now, to get used to the idea of Scorpius Malfoy being a constant presence at his son’s side.

He just hadn’t realized how _closely_ the boy clung to Albus’s side, and that idea disturbed Harry on several levels, chief among them the disturbingly visual one that had just been explicitly played-out in front of his disbelieving eyes.

Harry swallowed hard and tried to banish the afterimage of Draco Malfoy’s son fucking his Albus Severus. It was difficult to do, and Harry drank more tea to cover his discomfort. He wondered if Hermione would be willing to Obliviate him later. She was good at memory spells...

“So, um,” Harry asked his son, “why didn’t you, uh...why didn’t you, you know, tell me?”

“I was going to,” Albus said, more defensively than he meant to. “Today, actually.”

“Ah,” said Harry. “So, how did that work out for you?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Albus’s lips twitched briefly into something that was almost a grin. “Didn’t really go as planned,” he replied.

"No,” said Harry quietly, “no I’d bet not.” He drank more tea, and the boys fidgeted.

“So, uh...” Albus said. “Are you, um...I mean...” He trailed off, biting his lip. Scorpius reached over and took Albus’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, and Harry flinched and looked away.

“Yeah?” Harry prompted, still not looking at the boys, when Albus stayed silent.

“Are you really mad at me?” Albus asked in a very quiet voice.

“I...I wouldn’t say _mad_ , really...” Harry said. He squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable in his chair, despite the soft cushions. “I just...”

“You hate me now.”

“Albus, no! No, of course not!” Harry sat up so sharply he jostled half the tea out of his cup. “Of course I don’t hate you,” he said, “don’t be crazy!” Harry wiped the mess up absently with his palm, staring wide-eyed and worried at his youngest son.

“Oh,” said Albus. He was looking down at the floor and clinging very tightly to Scorpius’s hand. “So...you just hate my boyfriend, then.” Albus sounded like he was ready to fight, or to cry, or maybe both at once. Scorpius stayed very quiet and didn’t look at either Potter, but his grip on Albus’s hand was white-knuckled and trembling.

“No.” Harry sighed. He scrubbed a hand over his forehead, a habit that lingered whenever he was stressed or pained, even though the scar there no longer twinged. “No, I don’t _hate_ you Scorpius, of course not. I just...”

“Just what?” Albus asked.

“I just don’t like the idea. You’re just, you’re awfully young for...for that sort of stuff,” Harry finished lamely, turning very red.

“So I’m too young to fall in love, is that it?” Albus snarled. “I’m too young to know if I like boys, and not girls?”

“No,” Harry said, trying to speak calmly; trying to keep Albus calm, “of course that’s not what I meant. You’re just too young for...for that sort of...for doing _that_ , all right? I don’t like it.”

“James shags people,” Albus pointed out sullenly.

“And I objected to that, too, when we found out,” Harry replied, “for all the good that did. Your brother isn’t exactly what I’d call a perfect role model, Albus...”

“But at least he sleeps with girls?” Albus snapped.

“No, Merlin no!” Harry said. “Jeeze, Al, I’m not upset because you’re _gay_ , I'm upset because you didn’t _tell_ me, and because I found out like—like _that_ , and you’re having sex, and you’re still a kid, and—” He fell silent, and did not add, _and you’re dating a Malfoy._

“Oh,” said Albus. He looked suspicious and not entirely convinced.

“Look, Al, it was just...it was pretty sudden, okay?” Harry said, almost pleading for his son to understand. “I mean, I had no idea about—about _any_ of it. For all I knew, you hadn’t even _noticed_ girls, or—well, or noticed _boys_ , actually, I guess I mean, and then all of a sudden there you were...doing that.”

Albus nodded slowly. “Well...sorry,” he said, very grudgingly. “I didn’t know it wasn’t allowed.”

“It’s not—it’s not that it’s not _allowed_ , it’s...I just...I have a hard time remembering you’re growing up, okay? And I still think you’re too young to be— _you know—_ with anyone. No offense, Scorpius,” Harry added reluctantly. Scorpius gulped and nodded, but he only met Harry’s eyes for a moment before he looked quickly away again, unhealthily pale.

“Well I’m _not_ ,” Albus insisted. “I’m sixteen,” he pointed out, with the world-weary air of adolescence, “what were _you_ doing when _you_ were sixteen?”

“Well...fighting a war, actually,” Harry said gently, “but that wasn’t my choice, and we were all of us definitely too young for it, we just didn’t have a choice. And to be perfectly honest, when I was sixteen, I could barely _talk_ to a girl without putting my foot in my mouth, so...”

Albus smirked. “So I’m smoother than you,” he said, “and you can’t blame me for that.”

Scorpius snorted. “I don’t know if I’d call it _smooth_ ,” he murmured.

Albus kicked him lightly under the table. “Shut-up, you,” he muttered. The boys were smiling shyly at one another, in a way that both made Harry’s heart feel very warm and made his stomach feel very cold and nauseated. They looked sweet...and that was indescribably disturbing to him. Harry hadn’t even known that Scorpius’s pointed face was _capable_ of expressions like that, and to see someone who looked so much like Draco Malfoy smiling _sweetly_ at his _son_...

Harry grimaced and took a long sip of cold tea.

There was a sudden sound of flaring fire from the living room, and a great clatter as if a number of people were climbing out of the grate, and a shuffling of feet and brooms, and the gabble of voices. Albus dropped Scorpius’s hand as if he had been burned, and his brown cheeks turned almost as pale as his friend’s—as his __boyfriend’s_ _ Harry corrected himself.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever be able to get used to that. Maybe it was just a phase, some sort of teenage rebellion, and Albus would soon settle down with a _nice_ bloke, instead of...of the one he had now.

But Scorpius was looking at Albus with such a heartrendingly sincere expression that Harry had to clear his throat and look away. He took a moment with his almost empty tea cup to compose himself, then turned back to face the boys again. Albus seemed ready to vibrate right out his chair, to run off and vomit before curling into a quivering ball of tears and worry.

Harry tried to smile encouragingly, even though he felt sick himself. “Sounds like they’re home,” he said, as bracingly as he could. “Ready to tell your mum?”

Albus swallowed hard. Scorpius nudged him, very discreetly under the table, with a delicately booted foot. Albus glanced up into Scor’s cool grey eyes, and felt warmer. Scorpius smiled, comforting and loving and very worried. Albus managed a flickering smile himself, and nodded at his boyfriend.

“Okay,” Albus said, “I’m ready.”


	8. At the Potters', Confession Reprise

Harry Potter was silent while his son spoke. He watched Albus, because he could not bring himself to look at the boy sitting next to his son, and because he was afraid of catching his wife’s eye, because he did not know what he would see on her face, and he didn’t want to make Albus worry any more than he was already.

Albus was very pale, and he spoke in short, halting bursts of quick speech, stumbling over his words and wringing his hands. He fidgeted nervously; playing with his hair, the hem of his shirt, a loose thread on the arm of the couch. Albus and Scorpius sat next to each other, although they did not touch, yet. Albus had not gotten to that part of the story, and he wanted to reveal it all in order—do it properly, this time, instead of the debacle that had happened with his dad. He could happily live the rest of his life without repeating anything that mortifying, and certainly he didn’t want to screw things up with his mother, but it was comforting having Scorpius next to him nonetheless.

His mother sat across from the boys, perched on the edge of her chair, peering very closely at her son. She nodded automatically as he spoke, trying to coax his words out as he stuttered his way through a short story that was taking a very long, painful time to tell. Ginny’s bright hair wavered like flames around her face as she bobbed her head encouragingly, worrying at her lips to keep herself from speaking, from interrupting, until her son was done.

From upstairs came the muffled sounds of James and Lily screeching at one another, but that was far away, and for the moment no one was paying the other children any attention.

“...and so, well, I’m gay,” Albus finished at last. He looked down, gnawing his lip with his teeth, afraid to even glance at his mother—afraid of seeing horror or hatred on her face.

“Right,” she said, “yeah, okay.” She leaned forward and squeezed his knee, and Albus only flinched a little. “I appreciate you telling us, hon. That was really brave.”

For a moment Albus didn’t move, just sat there and stared at his mother’s freckled white hand on his leg. He blinked several times then, slowly, he raised his head. He eyed his mother through the curtain of his dark hair. “You knew,” he said quietly, accusingly.

Ginny shrugged, and bit her lip, as if to hide a smile. “Nah,” she said, “of course not.”

Albus raised his eyebrows and stared harder. Ginny shrugged again, the smirk starting to slip free of her teeth. “Well, maybe a little bit,” she admitted. “I guessed, can we put it like that?”

Harry and Albus gaped at her with identical expressions of slack-jawed shock. “You _knew?_ _”_ Harry said.

Ginny shrugged. “I said I _guessed_ ,” she emphasized again. “I mean, Al hadn’t said anything, how could I have _known?”_

“But you did,” said Harry, rather heavily. He shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“Well of course you didn't, sweetheart,” Ginny said. She patted her husband’s arm comfortingly. “You never do, do you?” She couldn’t help but grin at him, even though he looked so miserable. “How long did it take you to figure out that Dean and Seamus are more than just ‘roommates,’ anyway?” she asked him.

Harry stared. “Are you joking?” he asked plaintively.

Ginny tried very hard to swallow her laughter. “Maybe we’ll talk about that later,” she said, her voice very strained from repressed amusement. She reached over to tweak Harry’s nose. “You’re just lucky I like the cute, dense ones,” she teased him. “But anyway...I think Al probably had more he wanted to say?” Ginny looked over at her son as her husband settled back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

Albus was in the middle of exchanging what appeared to be a very complicated series of facial gestures with his friend. If Ginny was any judge of those sorts of things—and after a childhood spent with trouble-making twin brothers, she liked to consider herself nearly an expert—it appeared to be a conversation along the lines of, “parents, oh my god, I know right? Honestly...” But when Ginny turned her attention back to her son, he froze in mid-grimace, his head jerking around to stare at her so fast he might have hurt himself. His tanned face had gone very pale.

“I’m not a mind-reader, hon,” Ginny said drily, “but you look way too tense to have finished your confession already.”

“Oh,” said Albus. He glanced down, and then over at Scorpius, who smiled encouragingly, and then up at his mother again. Ginny was glad that the kid had someone here to offer him some moral support for the apparently grueling task of telling his mother shit she already knew, although she did—as always—have to wonder at her son’s choice for the source of that support.

Scorpius was a good enough kid, Ginny supposed, for a squirmy, scrawny snake, but she didn’t really think he was the overly supportive type. Too prone to sneers, in her opinion, and then there was that scathing, drawling voice of his, that set her teeth on edge...but at least Al had _someone_ . Ginny hoped it helped; he looked _very_ nervous, so anxious that she almost couldn’t bear it. She just wanted to grab the kid and smother him in a hug until he calmed down, but she thought that might not be very helpful at the moment, so she restrained herself (barely).

“Come on Al,” Ginny said gently, “what else you got?”

“Well...a boyfriend?” he ventured, very quietly. He was staring up at her pathetically through the veil of his fringe, and he looked like a puppy that thought he was about to be kicked. Ginny crossed her legs to keep herself in her seat, fighting that urge to hug him.

She grinned. “No shit?” Ginny said, “Al, that’s great. Brilliant. When can we meet him?”

“Er...” Albus squirmed in his seat, so uncomfortable he looked like he was sitting on a Blast-Ended Skrewt. “Right now?” he said, his face screwed up in a fearful grimace of anxiety. The freckles on his cheeks looked like they were about to swim away.

“Huh?” said Ginny. “What, do you have him stashed upstairs or something, or is he just standing by his floo on call?” She chuckled.

“Well...neither,” said Albus, still squirming. “He’s, um...he’s right here, actually.”

Albus’s furtive little nod sideways was a plainly obvious gesture, but it still took Ginny several seconds to process what it meant. Her eyes shot from her son’s face to the pale, pointed, sickly one of the boy sitting next to him. She stared at Scorpius Malfoy. He went even paler under her scrutiny and edged backwards on the couch, drawing away from her. He looked like a wilting corpse. The fingers of his hand—the one nearest her Albus—twitched and slowly crawled across the cushion, reaching for her son. Their fingers met and twined together, and Scorpius’s scrawny throat bobbed as he swallowed very hard.

“No,” said Ginny Weasley.

“I—what?” said Albus.

“I said no,” Ginny repeated. “No, absolutely not.”

“I...but, mum...”

“No,” she said again. “No, you are not dating... _him_.”

Scorpius shrank back against the couch, looking fragile and pathetic. Albus put an arm around the brat’s scrawny shoulders. “Mum...” he said again, sounding breathless and outraged, “mum I am.”

Ginny shook her head. Her hair whipped violently, a bright red lash of denial. “ _No_ ,” she said again.

“Gin...” Harry leaned forward, speaking softly. His eyes darted to their son, and the skinny boy cringing at Albus’s side, and then back again, searching her face, trying to smile. “Gin, come on...”

“No,” she said, yet again, “no way. Absolutely not.”

“I thought you didn’t care,” Albus cried.

“I don’t care that you’re gay,” Ginny clarified, “that’s cool, that’s fine. It makes no difference to anything. But you are going to date a _nice_ boy, Albus, not that— _that_ one.”

Scorpius’s lip slipped out in a pout and the shadows under his puffy, empty grey eyes were very deep. A shock of white-blond hair curled next to his ear, emphasizing the skeletal thinness of his face, and his pointed chin trembled. Ginny was reminded very strongly of another boy who had looked like that, a long time ago, and what he had done, and said, and caused. She scowled at the miniature version of Draco Malfoy that was cowering on her couch, and she remembered a hundred crimes and curses.

“I love him,” Albus said, glaring fiercely, “and we _are_ dating. Go on, dad, tell her.”

Harry, for some reason Ginny couldn’t fathom, went absolutely crimson and looked away from everyone. He swallowed hard, as if fighting the urge to be ill. “I, uh...that...that’s true,” Harry stammered, “they uh...they are, yeah...”

Ginny shook her head. “Not anymore,” she said firmly. "I forbid it."

“Mum!” Albus gaped at her, his arm going very tight around Scorpius’s skinny shoulders. The aristocratic little wretch cringed against Albus’s side, looking like he needed someone to protect him; whether it was deliberate or not, Ginny thought, Malfoy was very good at appealing to her son’s savior-tendencies. Albus had inherited those from his dad, and ordinarily Ginny thought it was cute—even when it meant things like half-drowned pigeons at three in the morning, or broken-pawed mice in the kitchen—but not right now. Not when the thing involved was _that boy._

“Absolutely not,” Ginny said, “I forbid it. You’re not dating him, and I’m not having him in my house anymore, and this is over. I should have put an end to this nonsense years ago, and that was my mistake, fair enough. But it’s done now. No more Malfoys, Albus. End of discussion.”

“Fine then!” Albus shot to his feet, his green eyes blazing. He tugged Scorpius up with him, although the other boy still shrunk backwards, tight against Albus’s side, as if hoping to use her son as a shield against an oncoming hex.

Albus’s hand dropped from Scorpius’s shoulder to grab his hand, and their fingers laced together tightly. Albus looked like he was on the verge of tears, and despite her furious scowl Ginny still wanted to hug him, pry him away from the Malfoy brat and enfold her poor little boy in her arms, and convince him everything would be okay. But Albus quite obviously wasn’t in the mood for hugs, even from his mother, not right now. He glared furiously.

“I’ll just leave!” he roared.

“ALBUS!” Harry’s shout, and his sharply extended hand, stopped the boy in his tracks when he would have tugged Scorpius with him out the door.

“What?” Albus said, his angry green eyes glimmering wetly.

“Don’t leave,” Harry said simply.

“Please,” Scorpius whispered in Albus's ear, "I’ll just go, please, it's all right...”

“It is _not_ all right!” Albus snapped back. “If Scor can’t be here, then—then neither can I!”

“Your mum didn’t mean it,” Harry cajoled, “please Al, come on, just calm down...”

“I bloody well did mean it!” Ginny exclaimed, coming up off the arm of the chair.

“Gin, come on.” Harry took her hand and Ginny scowled at him but did not yank herself free. He turned back to look at their son. “Let’s just all be calm for a minute, okay? Can we just talk?”

Albus nodded, although he still looked mutinous, and he did not sit down. His knuckles had gone bone white, his grip on Scor’s hand tight enough to hurt, but Scorpius did not pull away. Instead he pressed closer, and placed his other hand on Albus’s shoulder; soothing or reassuring or simply holding him back, or maybe all three at once.

“Ginny...be reasonable?” Harry asked, hopefully. Ginny gave him a look that said plainly, without any words at all, _not bloody likely_. Harry’s smile turned into a wince. He looked at Albus.

“Just...just don’t _go_ anywhere for a minute, okay?” he said. “Your mum and I need to talk.”

“So talk,” said Albus, glaring belligerently. Now he did sit down, dropping onto the couch like he was digging his heels in for battle. “I’ve got time.” Albus tugged on the hand he was still holding and Scorpius hesitantly joined him, although his fearful grey eyes never left Harry and Ginny’s faces. The boys drew close together, a united front, even if it was evident that Scorpius would much rather just flee, while Albus was prepared for a fight.

Harry sighed. “I meant...” He shook his head. Albus obviously knew what he meant, he just wasn’t in the mood to listen. Fine, let Albus hear the dirty details, if he was so determined. Harry clearly wasn’t going to be able to stop him.

Harry looked at his wife. He squeezed her hand and said gently, “Gin...he’s not his father.”

“Yeah, and Draco wasn’t _his_ father, either,” Ginny retorted, glaring down at her husband, “and look how that turned out for everyone. _Awesome.”_

Harry could practically hear Scorpius stiffen from across the room. He winced. He really didn’t want to say anything bad about the kid’s father in front of him, but...

“You can’t blame Scorpius for that,” Harry said. He spoke very quietly, but he knew the boys would hear him anyway, even though he wished they wouldn’t.

“I don’t have to blame him for anything,” Ginny said, “I just don’t want him near my son. It isn't _safe_.”

“They’ve been friends for five years, and nothing bad’s happened to Al,” Harry pointed out.

“This is more than just _friends_ we’re talking about here, Harry, and you know it,” Ginny said grimly. “And I won’t have Albus getting involved in that with _his_ family. They're _dangerous_.” She glanced over at Scorpius, scowling darkly. This time the boy returned her gaze firmly, although he still flinched a little bit in fear. He was as extraordinarily pale as before, but now there were two bright red spots on his white cheeks, and his mouth had gone very thin.

Ginny felt hot tears pricking at her ears suddenly. “I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about my kids,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, even Harry. “Not the way my mum did, I mean. Not about their safety. Not about their lives.”

“Gin…” Harry caught her hand and squeezed it hard. “You don’t, come on, nothing that bad is going to—”

“What do you think dear old Draco’s going to do when he finds out his son is dating a half-blood?” Ginny shook her head, shaking the urge to weep away. “I’m not running that risk. Not with my kid's life.”

“Father is delighted, actually.” Scorpius’s voice was shrill, but very loud. Harry actually jumped. It had been so long since the boy had spoken up, he had half-forgotten that the kid was capable of making any noise. Then Harry realized what Scorpius had said, and blinked hard.

“What?” he said.

“Say what?” Ginny echoed. She stared at Scorpius with stark disbelief etched onto her freckled face; Harry imagined his own expression was probably identical to his wife’s. She flopped back onto the arm of the chair, as though someone had just cut all her strings.

Scorpius shrank back a little, pressed tight to Albus’s side, but his pointed chin jutted out defiantly. “I said, my father is delighted.” He was still speaking a few octaves higher than was normal, but his voice was strong, his flickering expression almost confident.

Ginny snorted. “The hell he is,” she said.

Scorpius tilted his head back further, a haughty frown on his thin face. “I assure you,” he chirped firmly, “he is, and mother too.”

Ginny’s eyebrows arched up towards her bright red hairline. “Uh-huh,” she said drily.

“He is,” Albus confirmed, nodding. “We, um...we told him yesterday, actually.”

Ginny’s face went blank. “You told Draco Malfoy before you told me,” she said, her tone flat.

“Er...” Albus nodded, a little shamefacedly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Well,” he said, “we kind of thought that...honestly, we thought he was more likely to react badly than the two of you,” he said. "So we wanted to try him first."

An awkward silence followed that pronouncement. Ginny’s cheeks went pink under her freckles. “Oh,” she said, in a strangely strangled voice. Harry said nothing at all, but he could feel his own face burning. He swallowed hard and said, “But he...didn’t?”

Albus and Scorpius shook their heads in unison. “Father was, er, surprisingly thrilled, actually,” Scorpius said. His voice had shrunk back to its earlier small whisper. “And unsurprised.”

“Looks like you weren’t the only one to guess I was gay, mum,” Albus added. “Mr. Malfoy just...figured out the rest of it, too. Actually,” Albus added hesitantly, “it turns out he had figured it out ages before we knew, even.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Huh,” she said. It was a very noncommittal sound, but her tone was as disbelieving as ever.

Harry frowned, struggling to process the most important part of this revelation. “So you’re telling me,” he said to Albus, “that Draco Malfoy knows that you’re dating his only son...and he’s okay with that?”

Albus nodded, and so did Scorpius.

“Huh,” said Harry. “Okay, then.”

“What do you mean, ‘okay’?” Ginny demanded.

“Well...” Harry shrugged. “Just, okay.”

“It is not okay,” Ginny said darkly, “it will never be okay.”

“Gin...”

“No,” she said, “no I hate this. I hate _them_. I hate all of it.” She blinked furiously, scattering tears before they could fall.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Potter,” Scorpius said. He had hunched in on himself, and was looking up at Ginny and Harry with a very pained expression. He looked the picture of abject misery and repentance. “I’m really very sorry.”

Ginny looked at him, her face hard.

Scorpius looked very small, and pale, and contrite. He looked frightened and ashamed and his fingers were still laced very tightly with those of Ginny’s son. Albus stared at her, his own face pained and desperate and sad, but his green eyes glimmered with unshed tears and fragile hopes. Albus’s lip trembled, and he bit it, and looked like he was trying very hard not to cry.

“Oh, _fine_ ,” Ginny snarled, relenting angrily. She jabbed a finger sharply in Scorpius’s face and he flinched away. “But when you break his heart, and let him down, and get him hurt, I’m going to string you up by your ferrety little ankles and feed you to one of Charlie’s dragons! And if any of your blood-manic family so much as look at Albus funny, I’ll do the same to them!” With that said, Ginny stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her so hard that the picture-frames on the nearest shelf wobbled dangerously.

“She doesn’t mean that,” Harry said automatically.

Scorpius nodded stiffly, obviously terrified and not believing Harry. That was good, because he was pretty sure he was lying, and that dragons would indeed be in Scorpius’s future if he hurt so much as a hair on Albus’s untidy head.

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry, Al,” he said heavily. “It’s just... _hard_.” He shook his head, his expression bleak. “It's a hard idea to get used to. We’ll try, okay? Be patient with us...will you?”

Albus hesitated, then nodded once, jerkily. “Okay,” he said. He swallowed hard and dredged up a watery smile for his father. “Thanks,” he added.

Harry smiled weakly and ruffled his son’s hair. He glanced at the boy sitting next to Albus, frowned, and forced the smile back into place. “So, uh,” he said, “I guess it was good we waited until after dinner to do this, yeah?” His weak attempt at casual good humor sounded strained and horrible to Harry’s ears, and he grimaced.

Albus nodded, his own smile a forced rictus. “Guess so,” he agreed. “Um, I guess...I guess we’re done, then?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I...yeah. Okay. That’s probably it, yeah.” He stood up, then hesitated. “Although...Al?”

“Yes?” Albus looked anxious, but not anywhere near as frightened as he had before.

“Could you, maybe...do me a favor?” Harry scratched the back of his ankle with the other foot, balancing awkwardly.

“Okay?” said Albus.

“Maybe just...just for a little while...try to, um, to keep your hands to yourselves, okay? If you...get what I’m saying.” Harry grimaced, and tried to smile, and grimaced again.

Albus stared at him. The expression on his face—a face that Harry knew almost as well as his own, a face that he had adored since the moment the kid was born—the expression on it was, suddenly, inscrutable. “Okay,” said Albus. Harry could make out nothing from his tone, either.

He glanced at Scorpius, but the other boy was wearing that infuriatingly blank Malfoy Mask that his whole family did so well, the one that gave nothing away. Harry would have bet good Galleons that Scorpius was an Occlumens.

Harry nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks. I just...I think it’d be best, you know? Give everyone a chance to just...cope. You know? I appreciate it.”

The boys nodded, and Harry forced another smile, and then he left. When he closed the door behind him he turned and rested his forehead against the old, dark wood. He sighed heavily. Why did life have to be so... _complicated?_

Albus and Scorpius sat in silence for a while. Then, “I should probably go,” Scorpius said quietly.

“What?” said Albus. “No, why?”

“Al...come on,” Scorpius said. He smiled gently. “I really don’t think I should be here right now. Do you?"

“You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” Albus asked. He didn’t believe it was possible, of course, but he still had to know, to make sure, just in case...

“Of course not,” Scorpius replied immediately, “you idiot.” Albus grinned in relief and Scorpius leaned in to kiss him, very gently. “I just think, given everything...”

“Yeah,” Albus admitted, “you’re probably right.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He stood up to walk Scorpius over to the floo, even though it was only a few steps away. Albus wanted to spend every second he could in Scor’s company, right up to the edge of the fireplace grate itself. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and rested his forehead against Scorpius’s. “But I’ll see you again soon, right?” he asked.

“As soon as you like,” Scorpius replied. He grinned softly. “You know where to find me,” he said, and raised his mouth to Albus’s for a long kiss. They stood wrapped around one another in front of the mantle for a long time, neither one speaking.

Scorpius pulled back with a sigh. “I should go,” he said again.

Albus nodded, although he did not want to. He lifted the lid on the jar of floo powder and Scorpius took a handful. “Hey—” Albus caught Scor’s arm as he turned to the fireplace. “What we were doing, earlier...do you think, I mean...can we, maybe, finish that, later?”

Scorpius smiled. “Promise,” he said. Then with a flash of green light, he was gone.

Albus sighed and sank down on the chair nearest the fireplace. He stared at the empty grate for a long time before he dragged himself to his feet and trudged upstairs, returning to his bedroom—all alone.


	9. Epilogue with the Malfoys

Scorpius climbed out of the floo and absently brushed soot from his trousers. He didn’t have time to even think about whether he wanted to go upstairs or just collapse in the nearest seat before his parents had burst into the room. They must have been waiting for the sound of the fireplace, the noise that would indicate that their precious son had returned home. They looked anxious and happy and worried all at once, and above everything else they looked eager. 

“Well?” said Astoria, her dark eyes wide and her voice breathless, “how did it go?”

But her voice faltered before she got to the end of the question; one look at her son’s tired, stricken face was enough to tell both Malfoys everything they needed to know. 

“Oh, Scorpius...” Astoria fluttered to her son’s side and wrapped him in her arms. “Oh, my poor dear...what happened?” she asked. 

Scorpius shook his head. “We...we told them...” he said. His voice was muffled by his mother’s sleeves, and he was grateful, because the soft cloth hid the thin line of tears that slipped out from underneath his pale lashes and scarred his cheeks. 

Draco rubbed his son’s shoulders. “I’m sure it will be all right, Scorpius,” he said gently. “Sometimes things like this are hard for parents to deal with at first, especially those with close Muggle ties, but the Potters are good people, and they love Albus. I doubt it will take them long to come around...”

Scorpius shook his head. “It’s not that,” he mumbled. “It’s me.”

Draco’s hand went still and Astoria’s arms stiffened around her little boy. “What?” said Draco. The word was cold and hard. 

“They...they hate me,” Scorpius said. His voice broke with a tiny sob, and he gulped hard, fighting back tears. 

“No, darling, no!” Astoria cried. 

He nodded against her arms. “They do,” he whispered. “They hate me, and...and they don’t want Albus to have anything to d-do with me.” He sniffled very hard. 

“What does Albus say?” Draco asked quietly. 

“What?” said Scorpius. 

“Albus,” Draco persisted gently, “what does he say about that?”

“About...about what?”

“About being told he can’t see you?”

“Oh, well, he...he’s not going to listen, of course,” Scorpius answered, “he told them that. They, um...I guess they relented, sort of...but, still...” His voice quivered, and he swallowed hard, biting his lip. 

“Well then you’re not losing him, are you? And that’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” Astoria said soothingly. She drew Scorpius’s chin up so that he had to look her in the eyes, had to meet her warm smile. 

After a moment, Scorpius nodded. “I...I suppose it is,” he said, blinking at the realization. He managed a very tiny smile in response to his mother’s prompting. 

Draco squeezed his son’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right,” he insisted quietly. 

Scorpius nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered. He drew away from his parents but gave them both a watery smile. “I...I’m going to go to bed now, if you don’t mind,” he said. 

“Of course not, dear,” Astoria said quickly. She laced her fingers together tightly, as though to hold herself back from running back to her son’s side and flinging her arms around him again. Draco nodded, draping an arm around his wife’s shoulder, as a comfort to them both. “You go ahead, mt dear,” he said. “Come and find us, though, if you want to talk. Or just sit with silent company. Or anything at all.”

“Yes,” said Scorpius, “thank you.” He bobbed his head, the smile on his face flickering, then fled from the room. He stumbled up the long flights of stairs, pausing several times to wipe tears from his eyes. 

It was barely eight in the evening, the summer sunlight still lingering over the edges of the gardens, but Scorpius pulled the heavy drapes in his bedroom, shutting out the warm glow. He undressed in the dark, a raw sob slipping free as he yanked his nightshirt over his head. Scorpius angrily dashed away the accompanying tears and flung himself down on the wide cushion of his bed. 

He pressed his face into the pillow, but the sheets had been washed already. It no longer smelled like Albus. Scorpius’s lip trembled until he bit it. He yanked the covers up roughly, nestling down in the warm cocoon, and scrubbed the heel of his hand across his cheeks until they were almost dry. 

“I haven’t lost you,” he whispered, trying to believe it. 

Then he slipped a hand down underneath the blankets, closed his eyes, and tried to remember what it felt like being inside of his beloved Albus. 

It was a very long, and very lonely, night. 


End file.
